By Roberta Curley
She stoops like those toughened
memories saddling her back
unashamed of the fabric she braided
even pondering a comeback
her blood courses and races
like a thoroughbred in its paces
but her breath whirrs and hums
sleep bearing peace which numbs
tho vintage consolation prizes ring –
a flaming peach sunset in Ossining
180-degree-arc rainbow over Copake
full moon wrestling Megunticook Lake –
tickled too by each sparrow’s cheep divine
em>she transformed her thrills into poetic rhyme
netting schools of suitors – eluded by a match
she released each back in a game of catch
her heart touched solely by one – his urned
remains revered like the sun
her champagne locks – akin to amber ale
today toss with her soul in a tempestuous gale
her joints—snapped rubber-bands worn by pain
arthritis devouring cartilage, steeped below the vein
still, despite pangs of distress the lady hears
the silent music of calla lilies trumpet in her ears
“I WON’T GIVE IN — she clamors upon morning dew,
I’ll rally and blossom like an anemone anew!”
