by Maggie Wolff
In the Beginning
Erasure of Charlotte Brontë’s Villette
pleasure if she could only reach it
shine in some bright distant sphere
yearning to attain, hunger to taste
I
saw her
my
golden sign dark
curve
I had feelings little as I
spoke, cold as I looked,
accidents
stirred up a
craving a thunderstorm broke; a
hurricane shook us
the tempest took hold of me
I was roughly roused
It was wet, it was wild, it was pitch-dark.
the delight of
the wild hour full of thunder,
an ode never delivered to man
I was mutinous
quiet in the pain ache
something like an angel knelt near
Poet Maggie Wolff (she/her) is a poet, essayist, and Ph.D. student in English Studies. She won an AWP Intro Journal Award for her poetry, and her work has appeared in Hayden’s Ferry Review, Reed Magazine, Juked, New Delta Review, Painted Bride Quarterly, and other publications. She is the author of a chapbook, Haunted Daughters (Press 254).
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