Bamboo Lady
I awoke to the pressure
Pushing me inward this morning.
Sticky. Moist air immersing me
In sodden memories.
Blast from the past.
Humid awakenings from a life
No longer mine.
Rusty time.
Displaced. Confused. Spinning.
The shoe and not the foot.
Not striding forward in confidence
But trod upon.
Sole flapping in weary protest.
Every motion orchestrated for
Survival.
No revival.
I think I shall become "Bamboo Lady."
Roses lost with my past.
No hothouse plant but green,
Swaying with the changes.
Common woman thriving on
Nutrients and water.
Alive
And learning.
by Mari Sloan
copyright 2011
Copyright © Mari Sloan | Year Posted 2011
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