Like Glitter for Ashes
So used to ashes, damp in the mud beneath trim
Trees adorned in scarlet and gold bangling
Leaves, I barely know how to recognize
The faerie glamour when I see it, as if all
The glitter falling through the cool air was inevitably
Falling for someone else: story of my life.
Even the air today scintillates, although
The sky is cloudy: mixed signals, also the story
Of my life. Relying on the old standard plot
(Boy meets girl, girl pursues, boy flees), I would once
Have found frustration here, the logs damp,
The scattering of twigs and balled-up newsprint
The makings of an unlightable fire.
Instead, this time, I let the glitter fall
On my hands, my face. The world shines
With more than one or two colors–the greys,
The blues. Now there is also pink and lilac,
Spring green like leafs in their infancy,
Orange like a warning, and that old classic,
Imperial purple. Shimmering with suggestions
Of color, bubbles rise like balloons.
Music beats, my breastbone vibrates.
All around me, women join the tribal dance.
I shimmer all the new colors, join the dance.