Monday, October 31, 2011

Ruth Beckel

Untethered at last
Not one thing they can think
to push into either arm, wrist

I keep the needles, just in case,
Dangling like a bracelet
jangle bangle
but dance away from the bed
Close the bathroom door

Carefully explore:
my uprightness
my balance
my gait

Barefooted, hit the hall
Stroll softly to the end
and watch the old lady in the window
head wreathed in stars
No one I've ever known
now no way to deny
she's been there all along

Not ready for a polka yet
I do a bounce and a quick
small soft shoe shuffle holding onto
the end of the bed.

And clean the room,
and sort my clothes
and drink the smuggled Mountain Dew.
Pack my going away bag.

Smug. No way around it:
Just plain smug.

19 October 2011

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