Cradling a microphone on
the stage a scrunch of
dress in her fist she
sings the blues
you can tell she means it
you can tell
she means it
you can tell from the tugging at her dress her
halo hair and dripping lips
eyelashes sinking her
eyes clenched to the world of cigarettes and shadows
below her stool safe you can
tell she means it
she can sing a song so true
she makes you cry inside of you
she makes you cry from
48 years of pure blue skies
and spinning in the rain
of meeting and unmeeting gazes and shoulders
shrugged listening to the clean sounds in her mind from
48 years of being beautiful
in red, of being beautiful in bed, of being
beautiful instead from 48 years of
pumping all her blood, keeping all her blood
unwinding unwounded from
48 years of free
48 years of free
she sings the blues so well
for you and you can tell
you can tell that on this stage at last
she means it
