Duty Free

i pull my pen


through caked ink

and warm the wax

to reseal a promise

i keep

beneath my bosom’s

fine-lined silk

frothed milk

and the tight weave

of nature’s curled lash

a safe-keep stashed

far from the keyhole

of success

i torch the locks

to redress

the wound of banality

for conformity

is the death-knell

of possibility


on mangrove’s

knotted knees

for i am tied

by the twine

of the feral fleet


into the scintillating seep

of iridescent revere


I come from a line of strong women. This is for them.

© M.G. Iannucci 2019

Art by Christiane Vleugels

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