"Crescent Daughters"
Perched on metal and memory, the radio between them
humming static prayers into the star-riddled dark.
One writes while the other holds vigil with coffee gone cold,
their tattoos mapping continents of survived violence, chosen beauty.
The harvest moon watches like a mother who finally understands
her daughters were never meant to stay small, stay silent.
Headlights glow like the eyes of some patient beast
waiting to carry them toward whatever border they're brave enough to cross.
The crescent overhead is a smile, a blade, a promise:
even the sky sheds its skin to become new.
-Artwork created in Photoshop and additional image-painting programs
-Poetry written by me
-both copyright to ©Stacy Stephens