glory by Frances Pope

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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