Each night
the old woman hangs
from the parachute in her bedroom
while she is sleeping
without socks
He speaks a language
with which I am not fluent
His tools I cannot afford
He shuffles aside my wonderment
as He pushes, I slide away
with Love
enclothed in camouflage
to be
Back Straight
back as a child
seldom could I bend to meet new friends.
Older now
I've found friends
in Fish...
and snakes~~~
[I received "The Old Woman" poem in a dream just prior to awakening one morning and was able to recall it word-for-word along with associated images. This poem was published in "AT WATER'S EDGE," Owings Mills, MD: The National Library of Poetry; J. Franz, Publisher; Joy L. Esterby, Editor, 1995, p.371]