GIRL, RECYCLED
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My best friend says she wouldn't go back
to the years of reckless abandon.
So happy to age naturally
without even dreaming
of tucks or lifts.
But what if I do
stitch my face
pushing here, pulling there
hoping that the shell
doesn't turn heads
and bring about a giggle.
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I'm glad there's no mirror under my skin,
where an old lady sits waiting.
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What if I saw a girl dancing alone,
not even seeing two partners approaching.
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She's touching her hair,
twirling beads,
smoothing silk across her hips,
a purple light streams from her eyes.
She's painting the town to a red beat
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and suddenly, watching her,
I ask time to stop
because I want that.
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Could I perform incantations,
abandon good karma
for just one more beginning
to be a girl again,
stride and flirt,
heeled up high,
wild as I fancy,
tossing a shiny mane?
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Don't save me from
the little imp
who hangs around for such as I,
waiting to grant my desire.
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And dreaming further,
I promise to live without a prayer,
to dance again once more.
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c copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2009
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