To Listen to Music While Reading this Poem, just Click Here!
Click Here To add this poem to your "Voting Possibilities" list!
Dress-up Strung from the rafters of my mother’s attic Scarlet ribbons glowing like small striped comets Which whirl around my small girl universe and Come to rest in my hair - impatient robins with Impassioned breasts. Cobwebs and memories and Stains like my favorite shirt from camp the summer I was eight and thought that memories had been Invented just for me. (I also thought that I was going To be an archer and a ballerina and saw no incongruity Or impossibility in either - oh, I was a genius then.) And stains like strawberries from my mother’s father’s Garden - that small dirt poor patch over-tilled, over- Worked, over-populated and straining at the seams, Spilling plump berries into my over-eager hands. And rips and tears like falling from trees and falling From horses and falling in love and other catastrophes Like running away - but only for a night And I never told my mother and she never knew, But a rip remains - torn in my shirt tail, the one That was so good at vaulting fences; it was magic you know (But red, not black or white). And milder calamities Like falling in love - but only for a night And I never told him and he never knew, But a kiss remains - stitched in my memory, patchy At times - embroidered now in mismatched shades (But always red). |
Sorry, there are no critiques for this poem in our system... If the poem is older, the critiques have been purged!