—Apollo offered her anything if she would spend a single night with him.

Sibyl agreed but then refused his advances and was cursed with her wish of eternal life.

This is not who I am. My hair is heavy

with compromise. I wash it each morning

while villagers bind my leaves into small books.

When Apollo untied my scarf, he promised

me life. Old as a poplar tree, he said. Instead,

he worked my body into glass, a small jar

that hangs from a tree. I weigh as much as the swallows

that peck at the cord.

I can’t keep track. At night I wish, at least,

I was dust you could take a finger to.

I am the story women warn

their daughters of. Like prophecies on leaves

left at the mouth of my cave,

leaves I watch scatter.

Kim Young (CA)  is an MFA candidate in Poetry at Bennington College. Her work has appeared in 5am, POOL, The Bedside Guide To No Tell Motel, and Solo.