1950 Televised Debutante Ball
In my pink pajamas,
I imagine I am the princess
I see on television,
gliding down the aisle,
bowing before the court.
I step across a stained rug,
drop to one knee,
and lower my head,
ignoring the dog
who licks my face.
With each princess, I practice.
My heart beats when the bugle blows
and the Queen is crowned.
Their photos fill the newspaper
the next day and I dream on.
Vexed, my mother tells me,
Those are just rich girls.
The queen is the one
whose father pays the most--
now do the dishes.
Breaking Out
And when you fling
your body through space,
shove molecules aside,
pierce air with your presence,
yelling and yelling,
you may wonder what else
you haven't tried.
|
by Jeanie Greensfelder
Psychologist, poet, Women's Press writer, Hospice of SLO volunteer . . .
|
The Light of the Local Parade
I sit on the curb with the kids,
a front row view of floats,
bands, bicycles and a bus of
elders smiling and waving.
Young girls flip and cartwheel,
a three-year-old runs to keep up,
stops, touches the ground, stands,
her arms raised high in a V.
We applaud. She beams.
Blowin' in the Wind
(Song title by Bob Dylan)
Claiming squatters rights a spider
resides in my right rear-view mirror.
I wiped his web away but it reappears,
supple enough to survive my driving--
a silver strand reminder
we're both blowin' in the wind.
|
