Shady Sady

Hiding away in her private
world of poetry and blankets
wrapped tight for protection
from the elements, wanting
fulfilment of desires
but unwilling to seek them . . .

Shady Sady, eyes of grey –
living in a land of half shadows
and misty images,
floating away into other hands.

Sad-eyed girl of forty,
wanting mother’s arms tight
about her – a father, loving and kind,
to make all decisions, ease
all burdens.  Wishing her daughter
the life she lacked courage to lead.

God damn it! Go for it baby!
Hold that head high!
Be haughty. Have an air
of self-contentment.
Your love won’t be found
in pages of books –
or wishful fantasies.

Seek out your desires,
reach for happiness,
even blankets get holes in them.
Nothing is perfect.

Yet you turn your head
in pensive wondering,
shy denials of insecurities
deeply penetrating.
And sit – reading words of others,
rocking back and forth,
back and forth,
back and forth . . . .

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