She was the one
who left us first.
Discovered men.
Threw winks
and a nod
on a pavilion bridge.
She the hip-swingin', saucy
walk-away
girl.
She had that look.
You know the look.
She had leg.
She had curves.
Damn she had curves.
She had butt.
She had grin and cheek.
She felled hearts.
She was the one
whose flair
oozed from limb
and onto canvas
and onto life
and into time.
Strong, bold,
colorful strokes.
She, the impressive.
What larks!
She burst onto the wall.
She knew things.
I don't know how.
Deep.
Her dynamic spread
and bleed
into the earth.
She produced.
She lived.
She weathered.
She nailed his ass.
She cried.
She's not the same.
She is.
The tsunami
hurled her heart.
The earthquake
shattered her spot.
The hurricane
blinded one eye.
She curled on the
brink and died.
He lied.
She is not the same.
She is.
She needs to know.
What now?
She lets go.
Burning inside
she searches for Perseid.
The trellis of
her smoke wafts
into the early morning sky.
She takes my hand.
She nestles into my lap
my arms
my heart
my friend
she.
©Scupper, August 09
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Comments
I envy the girl.
Good writing, what I expect on your blog.
http://www.makeshiftmag.com/submissions.htm
Kisses,
Marcela