She slipped to trip
her slipper fell--
it found its light
a wishing well
of painted days
that dreamed of night;
Cinderella's midnight flight.
Time sped so fast
her eyes lost sheen
her focus dazed
became unclean
in dreams forgotten
one by one
as childhood lines
became undone.
Each finger filtered
two by four
and every day
they added more
to find her path
and pin her to
the place where
Mother
tied her shoe.
Was she the one
who missed the loop
who led her from
that friendly group
to stand in sand
behind the shed
where toes
lost shoes
and socks
instead;
instead of marching
up the hill
far from the ones
who said:
"be still"
her laces tied
her shoes on tight
where morning sang
and sun was bright?
Pamela A. Lamppa
Copyright © 2013
all rights reserved
6 comments:
Funny how poetry can be a historical research tool for the spiritual "meaning" of our youth and impact, if you will, and yet in and of itself, keeps us young.
You seem to have had some issues during your childhood from what I'm seeing here but have gotten past them now. I'll be curious to see if that interpretation is correct.
It seems I've had so many issues that I couldn't number them if I had a million fingers and toes. In any case it's an intriguing write.
I like how your poem reaches beyond a personal narrative and evokes a cultural conditioning of gender and poetic experience.
Nope. Just plain imagination my friend. Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts.
Thank you.
Thank you. These days, I'll take anything that keeps me young. *smile *
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