To Be Continued

I'm the hero of this little lore.
I've never been a damsel.

In chapter one,
I climbed from the pit
like ivy climbs a wall.
Every sinew straining,
hands full of thistle,
I cleared the edge
just as the first tongues of lava
licked the soles of my boots.
I survived for a time by
living in a lean-to on the beach,
eating eucalyptus leaves,
and drinking coconut milk.

In chapter four,
I found myself tied
to the trunk of a mulberry tree.
But I am liquid willow,
and with feline grace
I freed myself
before my fingers grew numb and useless.
Then, I blew through town like a tumbleweed
in a bad western.

Finally, in chapter nine,
I came face to face
with evil's spawn.
The imp stank of rye
and rot,
and I rammed my elbow
repeatedly
into regions best unmentioned
until I could flee
south
into the arms of the alto wind.

And, here I am.

I know sienna from burnt umber.
I know onyx from opal.
I have never bruised the peach
or bent the tulip's stem.
I wear miracles
like jade prayer beads on a string.

I am the hero of this little lore.
I have never been a damsel.

With Shawna's Bonus Words