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Portrait Of A Lady



Today I felt exactly as portrayed. I remembered this poem, which my friend wrote, which is about me. I thought of it, glanced up, and there it was, telling me, yes, this is who you are, lady, this is who you are. It was written back in 1991, when I wish I felt like this.

I found her
I didn't look for her
The hazy shine of a future brought her to me today
Her mind grows with the bitter smell of morning coffee
And tales from old wives.
She's no hippy or earth mother
She blows in like the driftwood and seaweed on
The surf of the waves, evenly culled onto the shore-
But she's firmly locked.
The squelchy sand poses no threat for her,
She leaves an even perfect footprint on the cool mineral.
It's fresh, it may fade, who knows?
Still her childlike perfection and security has impregnated it,
Like the smell of rain sprinkled on tired streets.
Feelings and words restrain me- she knows no fault
Only the confident waver of a daisy in the still air
She smiles in the rain. 


Comments

Suze said…
'The confident waver of a daisy' almost made me cry.

Wait. There it is.

Smiling through tears.
14 October 2012 at 20:54
Lisa Southard said…
It still makes me a bit wobbly- the first time I read it I hoped someone, one day, would think of me like that. Then I found out it was about me. The extremely perceptive lady who wrote this is still my friend. You would like her, I believe xx
14 October 2012 at 21:34
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