Girl
She folds in the corners of the napkin,
lips tight, something hidden -
her head tilting in the light of lace;
the window drawing in a space untested.
The shelter of her play sighs;
a fluttering of pages a diary encouraged
for parts of her not to see,
just know as quick as her laughter disguises.
For years I have seen these fields
ripple in her hair,
her distant cloud roll and bruise,
the honey maze and blotted blue -
the Eden shift in her tears,
and each time I looked I saw a new -
a hum of spring.
I see a girl twirl the glass,
now old enough to hold,
bold enough to her own frustration,
for we talk about nothing and more –
the sweet of youth and friends.
The things she would like to own she does;
there is no light blossom smiled upon
more so than her sun pinched face -
a jewel enough to make heaven cry;
the grace of her freckled nose.
She is something more wise than I;
a strength of will, enchanted,
complete in this kin, this table we share –
the tint of her grin suggests
looking out to the world before her;
a box of paints
and a woman’s heart growing.
Marianne Louise Daniels
Fri 5th Oct 2012 12:41
Thank you for your comments.
xx