When I was a little girl I spent hours doodling dresses.
I imagined their whispery feel,
soft and sweeping
in buttery cotton and linen,
lightly brushing skin,
stepping light and roomy,
bare legs and breath free
to flow and float and flutter,
in crisp simple lines of glad color
with me inside,
Now I’m a woman grown and turning fifty
and I’m tired of trudging in trousers,
burden bearing down heavy on this frame
I once dreamed draped in dresses.
I want my heart to wear dresses again,
to feel the tug and twirl of breeze
swing me round light
with billowy lift and swirl.
Oh sure, I want to kneel down and dig,
to climb high and sculpt,
to plant and build and heft the load
….I love the feel of work when it matters,
but not until my knees groan hard with gristle and ache,
my heart pounds heavy from airless effort,
and graceless strain
like apples left to rot in the yard.
I don’t want my heart to wear pants
to feel binding rigid heaviness
pressing tight on skin.
I want to remember,
please , my soul, remember
the way of soft cotton dresses
and go there,
beat and breathe from that place
My word for the year…..a picture for my heart: dresses