THE MIDAS GIRL
I am more precious now,
stock rising with each injection
as I take on more treasure, a pirate’s
gleam. Glimpsed through glasses
my corpuscles are encircled
with gold, the corona winks
up at the microscope and each time
the scientist must blink and smile,
they are turning me into an ingot
and with rude delight, compare
soaring notes as traders might.
The harbinger of age struck early
and now my fingers refuse to uncurl
as if they held something precious,
afraid of thieves, something more
than movement. If I were to be weighed
and sold I would amount to more
than the sum of myself, my fortune.
Flecks of yellow enter my eyes,
which are not hazel in daylight
but when the lamps dim and die
like a beacon, like a cat, they shine.
Sarah Wallis is a writer based in Leeds, UK. 2018 publications include Pidgeonholes, Ellipsis, Best New British & Irish Poets, The A3 Review, Burning House Press and The Island Review. Follow her on twitter @wordweave