THE WOMEN gather under the trees.
They bring gifts, food, and chairs.
They are gypsies and queens, oracles, saints,
Jezebels and jesters, healers, sages, and warriors.
And when the circle is complete, the magic begins.
Shyly, with dainty movements, they take turns,
shifting aside their robes to expose
missing limbs and gaping wounds.
The others gather close and peer, heads cocked,
eyes straining, and they chant,
"That is lovely, that is good,"
and the wounds stop weeping,
and they melt into scars,
silvery and light and beautiful.
Then the women lean back and laugh,
and they stretch, sensual and fierce,
like cats in the sun.

Wednesday, February 22, 2012

Traveling Poem 3: In High School...

[A traveling poem is begun by one woman, then passed on to the next, and so forth, until each has written a stanza. This traveling poem was begun by Zazu.]


In high school, my best friend and I
would walk down the street with our
arms linked, ala Laverne and Shirley.

We shared our clothes, our lipstick
and cologne, and all of our deepest, darkest
secrets.  I was even willing to share her
boyfriend—so we wouldn’t have to double-
date.  She said, “No!”
Silly girl.

With that unblinking certitude that
17-year-olds possess,
we knew we would be best friends forever.

Sock hops, bunny hops,
Sadie Hawkins, too.
Angora-topped, saddle shoes
each with a big hairdo!

“We have no brakes and we can not stop!”
We chanted this all around the blacktop,
running into other kids without a thought.
Playground rhymes to a simple tune.
Childhood ends all too soon.

School, for me, was an escape.
At school I could laugh and
be with people who liked me.

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