The Thrall of Old Women ~ C.E. Collins
It is that week when I
Fall in love with old ladies.
The maple syrup farmer with her
Maple music spoons dance
With me, tell me about
Your grandmother – one hundred years old;
The museum tour guide, limping
On a sore hip she threw forward
After she dropped truths on glass cases
Tell me again
How we are afraid of dying;
The lady who walked past
The café in Quebec City
In one red, one black shoe – fantastic;
And the one I always think about
Who stroked my hair, loved my curls
Until I collapsed with desire
To sit and listen – tell me – tell me – tell me
Everything
~~
C. E. Collins is a Morris dancing, shanty singing English teacher who writes. She knows none of that is very cool, but that’s ok. Her poetry can be found in Not Very Quiet, Sudo Journal, Frazzled Lit Mag and Cicerone Journal.
