yesterday's daughter

yesterday’s daughter

was a kettle at the mercy 

of scientists. Fashioned by a human hand

for investigation; her power

and her service disregarded for

experiment. How much heat

pinpoints capacity? Shaking in steams

and screams 

were a plain sign that

she was functional.

The woman that became of her

was a magma chamber at the molten mercy

of herself. Having learned that 

function isn’t ecstasy,

it is ruin—when control is imported from

a blithe other. Eruption is not her

agentic purpose, but a free statement: she is 

placid until crossed. 

Formidable even when untouched,

thus dormant until mocked. 

© Mollie Mardel