Ars Poetica: High Wire

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.

Monday, January 20, 2014

Balanced on a high-wire
My life far below
I make my way carefully
Toe to heel
Heel to toe

I watch where I'm going

I reap what I sew

I walk with my head up

Toe to heel

Heel to toe

I know I can do this

If I just move slow

Make every step matter

Toe to heel

Heel to toe

Looking up, you may see me

As I sway to and fro

Dancing on a high-wire

Toe to heel

Heel to toe

--Sappho