The Looking Glass Volume 40 | Page 54

Black Swan 

Nicky Beltre

my mother had always told me my feathers were too loud

“a pretty pen plucks her plumage just enough” she’d say

burning them back to the way they were in the morning,

twisting it up into her favorite spiral display

sending me to tame the fowl inside 

with only pictures of crystal blue waters 

and a prima-promise of the proper bird

but I flew anyways

the eye grabbing span of my skill 

blowing opportunity out of the water

letting my sweat soar off me 

as the proof of my belonging 

as a bird 

of the flock

my tondu

sharp and direct

paint off my pointe shoes gracing your marley

a signature of us black swans

breaking in

to your box

and re-claiming art 

built from me

All 7 sins rippling off your pond

the Pride, Wrath, 

Lust

that you rub deep into my back

That black swan 

I am, shameless

Jezebel

stealing the beauty from your lake

the prince feeling a fantastical promise

from my pirouettes

at ball’s edge

Informing your audience of my presence