When this is over

May we dance in dappled autumn light,
wearing silk clothes wrapped around our
tanned bodies, sun-streaked hair 
billowing behind us.

When this is over,
may we nurse our wounds and tend to the bruises
from the rusted chains that held us back 
for so long. 

When this is over,
may we scream our secrets into silent gusts of wind, 
knowing that whoever finds them will 
keep them safe in small, green, glass bottles in a 
velvet-lined box.

When this is over,
may our wings stretch further than ever before,
taking up all the sunlight and
take our voices back from those who stole them from us,
discard our bonds,
slip silk clothes over our bodies and
fly.