Monday, June 27, 2011


Sweet water filling up between my ears
and spilling through my eyes,
sway my skirt close to the floor.

My skirt is made from patches of yellow
curtain cloth torn from the kitchen window
and white lace.

Dancing to the sound of ripples in my chest
and wet eyelids shut I let the tip of my toes,
carry me to the warmth of the quiet sun room.

Baby napping
Laundry hanging
Lavender drying

Sweet water rocking my soul
when your waves turn black and I can’t see
my embroidery stitch,
I’m learning not to cry.
I’ll lay down needle, cotton and thread
and wait for your sweet water
to pass me by

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