and the corridors packed
(and the teachers held to our fault in this
as if they didn’t schedule us to crush)
but this time i am
me
now
sassy with my slow-begotten legs
wise-cracking
i will not be bent by danielle and jamie
i will not be swayed by charlotte scott
careening all hilarity
i and lily own the hall
scrunching (me) the corner of the stairs to music rooms
a kind of petticoat is mine
cerise
the special kind of see-through-iridescent
only barbie clothes can be
an outrageous scrunching copious and pink
confection
centre of attention in the crush
i am giddy
with the fun
i am rising to the ceiling
the special kind of flight that has you drifting
like you can’t decide to float or sink
but i rise to the occasion
while the jellyfish image isn’t lost on me
oh i am taking full advantage
i am spinning in the gym
i’m a glorious cerise jelly vision
high among the woeful shuttles
lost mid-flight
their peak peaked
they gather dust
and me a-whirl below the glass panes
the silk-looped chandeliers
they cannot get enough the teachers too
lay jibes aside
to cheer my gilded sunset cloud
return
most dazzling pirouette
you’ve ever seen
Frances Pope is a writer and French-English translator. Originally from the UK, she has been writing and taking part in readings and spoken word events for several years, starting in Brighton in 2009 and continuing in London, in France, and in Montreal where she has lived since 2015. Her work has appeared in Carte Blanche, Asymptote, Québec Reads, L’Organe, and UNAM’s Periódico de Poesía, and is forthcoming in Graphite and Phantom Drift.
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