In Flight
If I smelled of oranges
and wore a flower in my hair,
Nylons and
Heels.
Would you believe me?
Would I become the red-mouthed woman who
Passes you by, stirring up
Summertime nostalgia?
Could I,
Just by walking by,
Wake up the memory of
Orange groves
You've never actually laid in?
Sweet citrus.
Done up.
I believe her.
I never wear heels.
I never felt like I was
dainty, or light, or careful
enough.
Perhaps I've been thinking in the wrong order.
Suppose it's the shoes that make
A Woman.
How does she do that?
Every time she walks by-
Oranges.
What do I leave as I pass?
I wonder.
and wore a flower in my hair,
Nylons and
Heels.
Would you believe me?
Would I become the red-mouthed woman who
Passes you by, stirring up
Summertime nostalgia?
Could I,
Just by walking by,
Wake up the memory of
Orange groves
You've never actually laid in?
Sweet citrus.
Done up.
I believe her.
I never wear heels.
I never felt like I was
dainty, or light, or careful
enough.
Perhaps I've been thinking in the wrong order.
Suppose it's the shoes that make
A Woman.
How does she do that?
Every time she walks by-
Oranges.
What do I leave as I pass?
I wonder.
4 comments:
i've wondered the very same thing...but could never say it so well. xox
it's perfect.
that was lovely.
I love that poem!
I think this is just astounding. I can smell this poem! That alone makes it a complete success as literature.
Mom
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