The Poetry Of.
Anita Dahlman...................................................
soft in the middle (1)*
is it the end of the beginning
or the begging to begin again
where i am found
on this circular path
unwound and skittering
on scattered letters
french kisses from
a vagabond to
plump lips
inviting beginnings:
a quick skipping minuet
toppling deliciously
a tipsy all unlaced
to slightly lean within
the circle of your arms
this night long whisper,
a low and tender baritone
unravels me to swoon
and faltering headlong into you
you rogue, you gallant, gentle man
your reach beyond my breadth
impossible to catch unless
you ask me to begin again
entangled so with you.
*(yes, and unabashed)
soft in the middle (2)
i've gone all soft in the middle
amazing to find it so
at the iron-age of fifty-one
with a girlish giggle
lit up by just the sound
of a deep, very male, voice
my insides turned to mush
mush I say
amazing.
Carol
I put my arms around her,
singing familiar tunes
that once sounded throughout
her house on Christmas Eve.
Eighty-seven years devolved
into this ghost with a grey braid
and a limp left hand,
the other clutching at air.
I held her close and hummed
the tunes with words I never quite
understood, inserting instead
a gay tra la or language of my own.
Devising just to raise the spirit
by a little, and smile she did
toothless and broad, singing
with me, "Eeeeee...eeee..."
Her only words now for everything
from hello to I love you.
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