Stagnant in December, a bare stick clinging
to a trellis—like a woman
stranded in the wind without the proper overcoat.
Memories of Cicada filled nights,
its scent misting the veranda lamps with ribbons
of light pouring on purple petals,
A lilac shawl draped over her,
In her season,
she was cloaked in everything that flowered.
Now, another year etches itself on her gnarled branches,
She has no choice but to be content
until the murmurs
Of all that blooms purple
happen, yet once again.
The Freedom from Being Beautiful
after a line in the poem Menopause by C. Prudence Arceneaux
The manicured body,
and the avoidance of the syrupy desires,
the lusting glow of everything bronze.
Hair managed, eyes shadowed,
the arched and high cheekbone turning
into the right angle, away from the sun,
and anything else that might burn through the work.
The nightly rituals, the glossy cover photo
touched up, but never touched, never knowing
the comfort of what can be discovered
in the uncovering of one's uncharted skin.
Laurie Kuntz has been nominated for a Pushcart and Best of the Net prize. Her book, The Moon Over My Mother's House is published by Finishing Line Press. Her 5th poetry bookTalking Me off the Roof is forthcoming from Kelsay Press in late 2022.
https://lauriekuntz.myportfolio.com › home-1