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∴

 

don’t let the apron fool you.

 

despite the veiny,
weather worked hands
that set the food,
in silent,
nonchalant normalcy
down upon the table,

 

and the gaze that may appear vacant
or resigned
to the young ones –

but they rarely look for life
in the eyes of elders, anyway –

 

and a mouth that only tells stories
on occasion now,
that rides her wrinkles
with a strange lilt in the corner
as in memory,

if not turned down
in worry.

 

don’t think
she doesn’t,
on occasion,
have the urge –

with fierce immediacy –

to run out into the woods,
strip herself of every strap
that ties in bows
around her,

and dance
(after primal screaming)
to the music
she had once made love to

when she was
a younger woman;

before she knew
what love can do to a girl.

 

·

 

i haven’t had them yet,
but maybe
that’s what hot flashes are:

God’s reminder
to get rid of the extra layers

and recall
that fire of
Woman,

that while needed
and useful
for the hearth,

is also essential
to the dance.

 

∴

 

 

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