by Cathy Arden on October 14, 2014





Bring the girl dancing to the door
the persimmons that fell from the tree
too green, too soon
her leg as fresh timber
bending with hope and
not yet longing

Diane Keaton says she’s outlived love
I debate the tragedy
construct philosophy
there is no age that is the new anything
we love a fairy tale
the fiction of time
the poem like clay
Play-Doh even
it’s sweet scent like vanilla

I am still ravenous
tell no one
the girl in a sleeveless blouse
is afraid to walk home from school alone

She is the one
bring her dancing to the door
she tells no one
of her freedom
in her room
in the studio with patent leather
choreographing the dance
to Peter, Paul and Mary
ladybug, fly away home

{ 2 comments… read them below or add one }

Steve Howard October 15, 2014 at 12:44 PM

Ah, youth – how painful.


Amy Louise Pommier October 22, 2014 at 7:22 PM

Absolutely lovely — skipping/dancing through time and worldviews in your poem!


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