Thursday, July 5, 2012
When heat meets high,
hail is what you get.
Cold comes down to earth
Like a hard kiss.
Any woman who loves a Gypsy
sets her heart out in the wind.
Your girl's got the sunset eyes, doesn't she,
and the widow's peak you like.
I wouldn't want to tell you your business, girl--
keep dancing like the lightning tree in a gale;
call the sky closer and see what you get.
Turn the tables, sister--
read the five rings on her right hand.
Gold, for when she feels fine and satisfied.
Silver (moonlight) for when she's dreamy.
Turquoise (water) for when she moves in the mystery.
Brass, for when she's bold and her words burn fast.
The fifth is made of bone, with a ruby stone
for when she feels passionate and broody,
a bryndle spirit wrapped in Old Country colors,
a moment's flame between low ash and high smoke.
But you know, don't you,
it is her left hand, held behind her,
that will snap or sate you,
and stir the storm through the ice-white jasmine either way.
for Monday Melting #22. I used the word "slap". Wait. No I didn't. At the last moment I changed it to "snap". The voices told me to do it.
If some of this poem sounds familiar, it is because I was working on it in my previous post.