teaberryblue

I don't know why, lately, thoughts have been coming to me in poetry rather than prose. It's not something I normally do, and when I write poetry, usually it's form poetry: challenge poetry, can I think of this many rhyming couplets poetry. I write song lyrics and sonnets, sestinas and villanelles.

Not the kind of poetry I've been writing lately.

But bits of poems as expressions keep popping into my head. They come to me the way song lyrics come to me, in spurts, where I want to speak them and curl them around my tongue.

If you could see the woman she is now
Alongside the woman she was, three years ago:
You would not believe they were one and the same.
The way she carries herself, the way she laughs freely.
She stands confidently, does not hesitate.
Does not let herself dangle on the edge of the circle,
Waiting to be included.
She inhabits space as if it belongs to her: she knows
The exact way to stand so that the curve of her neck
Looks flattering in photos
(and not like a deranged stork).
Her smile is genuine and reaches her eyes;
She is not secretly edging toward the door,
Or hoping that maybe someone will talk to her
And rescue her from feeling like she's not wanted.
And she realizes, after a time,
That now there are people dangling about her periphery:
Come in, she says. The water's fine.