Librarian, Potsdam, New York
In the old stone-step library
housing epic tales
a glorious woman with glowing hair
color of late-day sky
dances like a flag on a used-car lot.
Her silver dress clings—
snakeskin with a bulge where
she swallowed a bunny.
She tap-dances
rat-a-tat-tat heels
across wooden floor
slapping stories into shelves
adventures in volumes
while the womb a perfect partner
follows her lead.
She flicks overhead lights
meaning you must gather and go
check out the legends
or leave them behind.
She’ll lock all doors
caging you in
or shutting you out
as she dances onto the stage,
the great theater of motherhood
tales tragic and joyful
as we all live our own drama.
…..
First published in Sheila-Na-Gig — thank you editor Hayley Haugen
This poem was inspired by a librarian in Potsdam, New York who danced, literally danced over the floors beneath the high ceiling as she shelved books while in a corner I was among a gathering of St. Lawrence County poets. Her passion internal, oblivious of anyone watching. Her belly was high drama, her slithery dress a silver flame, her clicking heels a startling counterpoint to the slumbering books. Here’s to that child—may you grow with that love.
Hear me:
No comments:
Post a Comment