Living the Dream

she came, sharp script of lips under tight pinched lines

of pursed pout, eyes sharp as darts

cheeks sucked in to hollows of harrowed thoughts

bitter, bitter, woman

I met an old woman softly padding pine spills

in a brittle forest full of fall gusts of cold wind

her laughter at leaves as they danced caught in my shawl

berry ripe women, sweetened by frost

she rubbed her hands raw, worrying,

about staying so long out in the cold

I stayed with a friend

who was eating chocolate-chip

Ben-and-Jerry’s-ice-cream-

kind-of-sorrow for the third day

and held her hand through her crucifixion

and hung to her coattails on her rise

rising, rising, woman

©Carol Desjarlais

Tags: Letters to My Sisters //