RAINBOW LADY
(Life begins at forty... Walter B. Pitkin)
Yes, if you believe in miracles.
If you take lows for pinnacles.
I will turn the page tomorrow,
sign a fresh lease come what may,
forty windblown years behind me,
a few more to come my way.
I will get on by tomorrow,
forty streams still frothing wet,
plenty tadpoles floating useless,
plenty eggs all turning bad.
I’ll become a rainbow lady:
blue for the moods, violet etches
the geography of stressed feet,
yellow for the callouses, the jaundice
and the sallowness of teeth. Orangy
red for the flashes, hot like lamps,
opening like fireworks; indigo for the
makeshift love in between cramps.
Half a truth today, hope to live by
intended as the smile before the sigh.
These winter weeds, they come alive
and seep in through my pores,
they dig through flesh, they dwell inside
and multiply by scores.
As vines lay bare 'round garden run
I curse the weakness of the sun
as vines lay bare
as vines lay bare
infectious shivers come undone.
These winter weeds, they come alive
and stretch from dusk to dawn-
perennial shadows, how they thrive
o'er achromatic yawns.
They breach my skin and stalk my bones
unearthing every warmth I've known
They breach my skin,
they breach my skin
and fall from eyes o'er all I own.
These winter weeds, they come alive
like worms that tunnel light.
I mourn all that could not survive
the hunger of the night;
it grows upon the hollowness
of sunshine steeped in sallowness
it grows upon
it grows upon
depressions empty, fallowness.
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.