To the Woman

To the woman who ties her long, golden hair back with a floral bandana

Oh, how your silly little smile and southern impersonations have made me feel

And your orange tabby cat with the french name of the moon

 

To the woman unafraid of how past hurt can damage a heart

The back of the red pickup truck reminiscing of old romance

Behind the memory of the first use of your pearl earrings and silk velvet gloves

 

To the woman unique in her fantasies and collections of old clutter

The day you brought me to your closet of decades past and vintage memories

Walking me through the door to a century not of my own being

 

To the woman who names the houses and carries roses from her garden

Happy Birthday being sung to me in the midst of a holiday celebration

Hundreds of eyes upon two who don't know whether to be filled with joy or to cry

 

To the woman who tells stories of fairies and gnomes playing in the hydrangeas

The old blue tap heels lay next to the sneakers and slippers in my closet

Your eloquent calligraphy on display above the headboard of my bed

 

To the woman whose clock chimes a simple tune at the quarter of every hour

That sound, fifteen after four o’clock, signaled the confiding of my loss to you

Wet smears upon your red and white apron, salty tears upon the cracks in the wood floor

 

To the woman with tea already brewing every hour of the day

My stealing of your sugar cubes never went unnoticed

And the pink salt on your counter amused me during every meal we made together

 

To the woman who will never be forgotten no matter what lies ahead

Nostalgia overcomes my thoughts whenever you are what I see in my mind’s eye

Your tiny dancer encompassses so much more ever since you entered her life

 

This poem is about: 
My community

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