Ann

My writing mentor. Thank you for the fire you've ignited in me.

Ann

by Erin L George

 

The lines of her face tell a pretty tale

not one of age, but of time shared

with beautiful people in beautiful times

had, forgotten, to be had in rhymes.

 

I envy her, the way she smiles

her tidy frame and curls gone wild

a naughty side I know is there

tiny tattoo, she once dared.

 

Combated by a need to be

professional, cool, breezy clean

covered now in careful words

to careful people, less observed.

 

Her clothes are pressed

by simple iron

and I know she feeds the steam

pressing deep in love's daydream.

 

She dances in thought of careless need

she sleeps alone, on satin sheets

and wakes at dawn to plant her words

on crinkled page with crinkled verse.

 

Where sex and goodness entertwine

love's embrace forgiving haste -

a man who once held her dear,

a meeting of the soul and mind.

 

I envy her, the way she writes

her words balancing cautious

on fire, ice, and summer days

lazy, frantic, foggy haze.

 

The lines in her hands call to me

to tell a story, rock me to sleep

where has she been to know such pain

yet have courage still, to love again?