Lives

I was never a gerbil
poodle or lizard
I was no ones wife
yet I carry in my bones
the memory of giving birth
in another century
under an orange moon
I always took a human form
in rags or gingham once in lace
imported from France
played violin in a King’s
private chamber he
banished me
when I struck the wrong note
I have learned to cope
one life to the next
the ancient voice inside
corrupting and consoling
tells me I am here
to prepare meals for anyone
who’s hungry I’m grateful
to crawl on all fours
carry a mouse in my mouth
hear it sing to its lover
who lives in the dark cottage below
where I was born many lives ago
in a room so silent I could hear my braids
grow, each strand of hair a song
for my next life