Well, maybe the poetry hasn’t left my mind completely (and here I thought I was getting better), and this will be thrown into Talespinning with the rest, but Spanish and picture framing is taking up my time today, and this is what snuck in and came to stay. Of course, my method is to write it down to get it out of my head and clear the way for other stuff, so I did. Other stuff is growing in there as well, and perhaps a short post of finger-pointing to more cerebral sites may be the thing to do today–at least for a little while.
Dressed For the Occasion
I used to be a streaker and moved so fast
you could not tell if my dress was
whipping in the wind from limbs that
raced through midnight or sunlight
it did not matter—you could not tell at all.
Until I paused, and cotton clouds of pink
and blue settled all around me. Did they cling
by threads along for the ride, or sprint above me
waiting to descend, defend the naked blur
from eyes that will not accept that sort of thing.
Older, slower; they see me clearer now,
or do they? Sometimes I still run because I must
and sometimes just because I will and want
to or don’t care. But sometimes too, I walk
in mincing steps and wear black wool.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology