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A Beautiful and A Bitter Shroud

When I was little, I found a magic box,
tucked under the eaves where
we were told not to go.
Something compelling about the
forbidden, triangular space,
sealed off by lath and plaster,
made me resolved, beyond curious.
I kicked and pulled until plaster shattered
and wood cracked, delightfully.
The large box was filled
with silk, organza and tulle,
the proud-worn gowns
of my mother's college days.
At those ***** she danced
in them, hair coiled up
and earrings sparkling.
It was not about the men, I knew,
but her need to be admired.
I don't recall a punishment
for opening the box
but she relented and allowed
my sister and I to put on
her finery and pretend.
We wrapped them round us
and twirled to imaginary waltzes,
stepping on long hems so many times
that  the gowns all came undone.
The rags were put away
and the room sealed up.
In my youth I recall but a few
times Mother gave in
and let us be children
or fairy princesses for a while.
Now she is old and finally
trying to wrap me in her shroud,
to make resentment drag me down
and envy of me, crippled with self-hate.
But that no longer works
and I tell her, finally grown
that this is not allowed.
I summon up pity and vague sympathy,
even if love left long ago.
I tell myself that
everyone dies alone.
Deep Feb 7
I'm tired of dancing
on your whims,
You are showing colours
like an authoritarian government
Tichozpytec Jan 22
A dancer among autumn leaves
Breathes in air, and breathes out mist
Fists clutched as she glides through the air
Her hair flying everywhere...
It's so rare to see such solemn moves
That soothe the cruelest of the moods

Truth be told, you feel it all
Her whole story, her heart's hole
So vivid, tears are in my eyes
As I feel the lies she has been fed
My head filled with the life she led
Yet, though I want to join her waltz
Hold her hand, exchange keys from our vaults
Something halts me, and I keep my seat
Watching her dance with autumn leaves
JA Perkins Jan 21
Dancing in a ten
percent chance of rain;
In part, because it
beat the odds -
More so, because
it never even
considered them.
Perhaps, it was even
in spite of them.
Or maybe it just
reminded me that
systems and
statistics are
man-made and fallible -
boasting with a
self-righteous tone,
yet still confined
to near fraudulence..

Either way..

You can tell me
it won't rain,  
but you won't
stop it from pouring.
You can tell me
there's no God,
but it won't stop
Him from healing
these festered wounds.
And you can tell me
I'll never walk,
but you won't keep
me from dancing..
Beat the odds
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