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There is a woman here
middle-aged  in her prime
with long legs
and a short fuse
A woman who loves to write
poems
and dance
I have rhythm in the marrow
laughter, too
I love to laugh and laugh

There is a woman here
who has scars
visible and otherwise
more than you’d want to know
more than I want to count
A woman who believes
in magic
I long for magic
I love stones
before they’re polished
I can picture Springsteen’s thighs
anytime  anywhere

There is a woman here
with a stiff back
and incredible flexibility
who tells lies for protection
the truth for survival
who sits in a chair on wheels
and hauls sacks of self-doubt
as if she were a stevedore
A woman who survives to dream
dreams

I braid my hair in my dreams
I have electric hair
and need to be loved
soft soft lips
and hate to be loved
eyes shadowed by memory
and want to be loved
full round hips
and I’m afraid to be loved
I love so easily

There is a woman here
full of colors
A survivor
who survives to be
a woman
here