"Progress" by Gillian Thomas
Cleopatra had a special lipstick made, consisting of ants
Crushed and smashed into a mix of deep red carmine beetle.
The smell of fresh-cut grass comes from the chemicals
plants release when in distress.
These are random facts, but I digress
As I teach my son history of the Earth and women,
Wet; soil that shaped us which was met with
Contrition and anger heavy as lead.
There's a library in Ankara filled with discarded books
And trash. Collectors rescued from landfills
Words they carried in fierce hands. Just you try
Stopping progress, feet planted in quicksand;
You’ll make friends with mud that smothers
You; choke and drown on timelessness.
Good fairies knew to make sure Sleeping Beauty stayed
At rest. Every living thing surrounding her was stilled
And made quiet. Nothing prospered across the land
Until she came out of her trance. My son asks
As her eyes flutter half-mast; When will she truly wake?
I insist that he be patient. I tell him—
Just you wait.
Gillian Thomas is a graduate of New York City’s Hunter College, having received her degree in English and Theater. Thomas’ work has been featured in multiple journals, including Mid-Atlantic Review, Beltway Poetry Quarterly, Gargoyle, Maryland Literary Review, Ligeia Magazine, Pembroke Magazine, and many more. She was recently interviewed in Issue 1 of The Basilisk Tree poetry journal. She lives with her husband, son and a barking Miniature Schnauzer in the suburbs of Washington, DC. You can find her at gilliansalwayswrite.com.
