Thursday, November 19, 2009

There is a land
far off in the middle reaches
                                   of time
in which resides
The gray haired ladies.
They are governed
by gnarled fingers
Gentled but strengthened

through eons of lifting
In the dark gray days
                  they are alone
                  each within her dwelling
                  listening to her own heartbeat
                  speak it's secret name
Her cup of tea is her future
An hour at the hairdresser
                          creates a long and exciting
She stands at the bus stop
                   no place to sit
Her knees are weary
                   and wish to bend 
releaving the heavy load
                   of her frail body.
She watches the boys
                   whiz by on their
An urge to join them
                           strengthens her
Her body has rebelled
                           against her independence
                           her spirit of mind.
The lady in green with
                                 the flowered umbrella
                                 speaks to her in a
                                 high-pitched voice
                                 "Are we tired of waiting?"
The old lady says
                  "I am going to the
                    beauty parlor. Its a
                    long trip for me."
Ha, she thinks, four blocks
                    down the road, foreign
                    territory, big adventure.
                    Hope the natives are kind.
"Oh! We're  going to get
all pretty for the new year
are we? How nice," the
lady in green coos.
                                         A woman in a pea coat
                                         and a Greek fisherman's cap
                                         gives her an irritated
You - lady in green - with
     your silver, silly, pompous
     hair - how dare you
     be so fucking condescending?
How dare you?
     Don't you realize there is
     a strong and intelligent
     woman - a youth of
     great beauty and worth
     inside this old lady?
Don't you see her in those eyes that sparkle
     and look at you so
Don't you understand that she
     is setting out on
                       a great quest?
A search for adventure
                       and knowledge?
Her spirit will award
her the holy grail. . .

Her joy will give
her peace

In the orange evening
the old ladies return
                     to their land
They quiz one another
on the adventure of the day
And gasp at the strength
within the souls
of their fragile bones.


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