The mountain wind this evening, spreads
its cool fingers on my short hair, like a comb,
brushing strands, away from my face....while
my own fingers are tiptoe-ing, back and forth,
seeking comfort...and freedom,

they're a mix of purple and burgundy
hues and shapes that clash perfectly
they're cold, round, and heavy...
i am weighed down by colorful shackles
my wrist, choked by red, green and gold crystals
the gray of doubt and fears pull my heart lower

"O, please give way,
let my fingers, and my body sway!
let my arcs, loops, and crossing strokes
make their own moves, like frogs must croak
like cats must purr and meow...
leave the rooster alone, let him caw....."

left hand slides them one by one  on the table,
wrist...now bereft of  natural crystal shackles
shortly, this dry spell would turn into a surge
night could offer a ditty or a dirge

free hand, black pen, unicorn paper weight
crisp yellow pad....old lamp, still bright
newly sandpapered desk of pine
all are ready, one busy night...a glass of wine...


Sally

Copyright July 23, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan