who is that woman
lashed to the front of the
ancient mariner's ship?
did I do something really wrong
or was it a simple misjudgement?
with breasts bared to the wind and sea spray
red hair coiled in a permanent wave
wooden garments plastered against the round
of my belly and muscular thighs
this cutting edge is seeming tedious
who is this woman wrestling free of bondage
paint chips flying in the gale, toes bare
beneath the carved folds of skirt
facing your abrupt departure
searching for innocent answers
I know her. She points onward
she loves without question
bumping into sadness and grief
tears cleansing doubt and fear
awash in the eternal love of you
My friend and mentor, Don Lumpkins, died this past weekend. His death has brought healing to my life, has brought me more truth and trust in my life and relationship with Wayne. Don loved and wrote poetry, though I have yet to read his poetry.
16 hours ago