Painting with words – a beautiful protagonist
Caught on a hill bleeding red and orange ­autumn
With sapphire eyes sparkling in watery angles
Like active folds of water when they reflect the sun
Ivory limbs and straight silky hair giving off
An ethereal light against the robin-egg skies
As if angels hide behind her back
But then again, what do I know of scalps of golden hay?
I come from thick, matted knots on top of copper foreheads
Curls rising midnight black and untamed
I don eyes brown and indefinable, crinkling into deltas
Of proto-laugh wrinkles embedded from ­uncommon stories
I come from short legs (true, they never came to me)
And small noses scrunched up in concentration
And shoulders carried proud, albeit not much like a princess
The sun plays on no gems, but plays the ­enemy or the best friend
For I come from skin on shoulders weathered by work in the sun
Breaking themselves down slowly day by day
For dreams sleeping unconscious across the ocean
So that generations can unfold their story ­upon
Insignificant plains of paper, maybe even ­gorgeous hills of fire
And there are always angels behind them.