titivating notes from old beldame

a morning star shines in her twilight,

primping, preening,
straight from the Pierian spring—
come closer,
gather round,
absorb the beauty while it sings.

take the goblet.
drink it up.

she whistles and spits,
and laughs at the old prescriptions:
remember how they flatter spring,
how youth is always
the favored metaphor.

drown in her silks

ageist modifiers—

a silver tsunami,
silver bell,
silver girl,
silver everything
except the fire.

cock to crow,

meat bees to bait chicken,

titivating, captivating,

yellowjackets

don’t re-arrange, don’t take the dope,

powder the nose or tattoo the brow,

ladies hum long after the strike note,
fair beldames laugh
growing younger
every century.

her face:
a physical map
of a life fully lived,
each line a tributary,
each crease a small river
running toward radiance.

no erasure.
no apology.

authentic joy
etched upon the skin,
profound luminous energy
refusing to behave its age.

go ahead—
wear lavender with red.

wear the impossible color

redefining the bloom.

hike the hike

san souci,
forget-me-nots,
a garden conspiring
against the calendar.

take notes from old dear:

has she been here before?

she knows the trick—

not to turn back time,

but become more time,

more morning star
inside the twilight,

more alive
with every beautiful
contradiction.

original lips knows
the secret entrance
to the Pierian spring.

she leans over,
sees her reflection—

and there,
where the face should be,

a young woman
makes faces back at her.

old dear laughs,

young woman laughs,

then the water
drinks them both.