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Geraldine and Me
She asked me to dance.
Matter-of-factly, led me
Held my eager hands -
She ruled, and I followed.
Cling to smell of cinnamon, while
She saw dark chocolate, craving to be had.
Neat and tidy as she, speaking.
Charting language of love, virginally.
Naturally, I clamored.
Loving everything of Geraldine
But granny said, "girls don't dance with girls."
She seemed twelve, and I, eleven, sat carefree.
Then Granny and Hurricane Hattie stepped in
Changed trajectory of our love.
*
Copyright ©
Iris E. S-Lewis
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