| Moderated by: Paddy, Edd |
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| Posted: Fri Feb 9th, 2007 04:10 pm |
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1st Post |
timmy
Member
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it’s your life now, hold it close—
like an infinite number your life extends
like moon rays, like strands of music
listened to and remembered—
you were given life & visitors
came: sisters, neighbors, teachers,
men in books—
they all watched
you grow, gave you advice
concerning geometry, red
licorice & white panty love
your hand now rests
on his shoulder, young thoughts
of coffee & theme paper dance
in your head, your red dress
somewhere between black & white—
it doesn’t matter what you wear
the only moment that matters
is now: you are heir
to your womanhood, spill
yourself onto the floor, move
your feet to his rhythm,
celebrate for the rest of your life
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| Posted: Tue Feb 13th, 2007 12:54 pm |
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2nd Post |
J Brian Long
Member
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timmy,
The second strophe resonates most with me. This is where the poem
really begins to happen:
"you were given life & visitors
came: sisters, neighbors, teachers,
men in books—
they all watched
you grow, gave you advice
concerning geometry, red
licorice & white panty love"
I also like:
"...spill
yourself onto the floor,"
--J Brian Long
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