danced barefoot at dawn on the dewdamp grass
as the river's morning mist haunted the garden.
Porcelain dolls, mimics of ourselves,
watched us take tea in thimble cups
glowing blue beauty, like our veins, against the light.
Our teacups now are squat and brown,
thick hands too clumsy for fragile things.
Cardigan-layered against mild winds,
we worry about flooding from the river.
There is ache and throb in our danceless legs
and no-one now sees beauty in our veins.
Come Sister, as the light fades from our sky,
let us dress in silk kimonos,
twist vivid roses in our pewter hair.
Penny Blackburn lives in the North East of England and writes poetry and short fiction. Her publications include pieces online in Bangor Literary Journal, Atrium and Ink, Sweat & Tears and in print with Paper Swans Press, Reader’s Digest and Maytree Press.
She is on Twitter and Facebook as @penbee8 and on Instagram as penny.blackburn.5.