She, Unfolding

a suite in six parts

For her—wherever she is. I see you.

I. The Molding
hair pinned, voice lowered
she folds herself into shape—
they call her “good girl,” not Elsie

II. The Risk
she dreams of warm skin
but lies beneath cotton sheets
in a house of rules

III. The Ghost
a rough hand, too soon
ghosts of touch she didn’t choose
linger on the skin

IV. Heirloom
shame passed down like plates—
fragile, hollow, beautiful,
never truly hers

V. The Smoke
hands soaked in warm dusk,
dinner, dishes, silent rooms
no one sees the smoke

VI. The Rise
no more asking why—
fire remembers how to rise
in the shape of her