Not a Dream—A Thought

By Jessica Lake

I think

—as a boy

I sang as an Angel might sing.

A gift without its curse.

Many praised this freakish delight.

I let it define me.

So ethereal—

so ephemeral—

So loathsomely tragic!

Till one day

An errant executioner

Revealed the miscarriage.

Dreaded death

In the guise of truth.

Surely child,

You must know?

Too soon

You yourself

Will betray yourself.

And those same

Hands there

Will clip your wings

Leaving you

A mute—

And a man.

Just a thought—

there is a way

—long foreclosed

By which a boy

Might escape doom.

In antique Italia,

Such sweet songs were

Never stilled but sustained.

I m a g i n e.

The little wagered

To never die

But live ever a boy.

Castrati