St. Barbara, Locked Away

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Dearest, I was towered;
I was taut like flame
in too tight space.
Even the mortar wanted
to beg for my body,
the way its blue edge shook
under a stranger’s hands.
My father, he shut me away:
I pretended not to know why,
but my back knew better.
I was a wide palm,
sticky with resin—
God had swollen me
with his necessary rain.

Photo By: Ceyhun (Jay) Isik



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About Author

Sara Biggs Chaney received her Ph.D. in English in 2008 and currently teaches first-year writing in Dartmouth's Institute for Writing and Rhetoric. Sara's poems have recently appeared or are forthcoming in RHINO, [PANK], Columbia Poetry Review, and other places. You can catch up with Sara at her blog: sarabiggschaney.blogspot.com.

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