Dignity

Her white hair was softly curled.
She was about 5 feet tall, and bordering on frail.
As I watched her pass me, I wondered what her story was-I had several more hours before my plane boarded.
To amuse myself, I imagined vignettes portraying her as having the sweet and salty wisdom of little old ladies who make cookies and play bingo.
She got some snacks, then found a seat some distance from the gate.

Much later, I saw her making progress towards the area where I sat.
In front of me was the boarding gate; beyond that was the ladies' restroom.
Watching her slow gait and bent shoulders, I wondered who was left in the world to love her.
And if those gnarled, veiny hands hurt with the ache of gripping experience.
In the next few moments, I began to smell an acrid, biting ammonia smell.
It made me wince and reminded me of all the diapers I'd changed.
I glanced about, and discovered its origin.

Her blue striped pants had a dark stain trailing down the inside of her leg.
My eyes started watering, but I sensed it was more a result of my empathetic horror for her dignity.
With obvious but silent distress, she worked her way to the bathroom with as much haste as she could muster.
She disappeared into the bathroom and didn't re-emerge for some time.
The smell lingered. So did the swelling in my throat.
As I imagined the mortification she must be experiencing, the bathroom door swung slowly, and the stained pants emerged.
I wondered if she had something else to put on, and if there was someone to bring it to her.
Apparently there wasn't, and I struggled with a decision: should I offer to help, and thus bring attention to her predicament, or should I remain where I sat?
As I deliberated, I saw her face. Vulnerability had been replaced with a dignified serenity.
Marvelling at her composure, I knew in that instant that I was going to leave her be. I was not going to destroy her beauty. She again disappeared into the bathroom, this time clutching an black overnight bag.

In due time, the lady emerged with a clean pair of pants and a peaceful look.
Two thoughts went instantly through my mind: I hope that I never lose control in public like that, and when the indignities of age do beset me, I hope I face them with equal courage.

Little Armor

You discovered my bare skin
as you rummaged between the covers.
Fingers plucked at and unhooked
what little armor I wore.
Unassailable walls are more
easily scaled in the dark.
Sliding off the straps, the strings,
those defenses ended up on the bare floor.
You lifted me gently from my reclining position;
gifted fingertips did all the work.
You mined for treasure and my walls collapsed.
It was the sweetest defeat imaginable.

Dreams

I dreamt that you woke me from within my dream
And unwrapped me from the cocoon in which I was sheathed.
You delicately removed the years of forlorn impatience with your touch, your steady gaze, your tongue gently telling, showing what memories should be made of.
Your lips rasping on my collarbone made me rise from my slumber.
The gasp from my parted lips made you rise.
Your fingers raked my flesh, following various torturous paths until I begged for relief.
My fingers scratched out their own course, gently pressuring you to find release within my heat.

Tears of craving came from our pores as you joined your salty sweat with mine. Pent-up and unspoken desires were left on the twisted sheet beneath us.
Any imperfections I have were erased as my curves grasped you, hand and tongue, refusing to let them go.
I rode the tide of movement and resistance.
A strident, garbled moan rose from somewhere deep inside of me
And traveled through my flaming nerve endings. It was a lovely burn.
My urgency for your thrust, for your skin on my skin,
Matched the tingling need nursing mothers know when
Their full breasts ache to be suckled by their greedy, hungry child.
I drained you of all the hurt, the sorrow, the lonely anger;
You drained me of all my unanswered dreams.
We became the birthplace of a greater truth.
It filled the womb of possibility my heart had become. Our bodies were slick with the sticky joy of entering and being entered.
You looked into my eyes again and we spent ourselves in each other. Then we dreamed.

Angles and Curves

I Want a Man-
Who has an urgent need to feel my skin, to breathe in my scent
To understand our words, our looks, our hesitating touch
Who can trace the outline of my lips with his finger, to make me shudder and sigh at the promises written there
To listen while I talk and talk while I love
Who will grasp my hair and trace a path along my bare neck with a finger, with his lips
To graze his lips across my ear as he tells me who he thinks I am, as he tells me how he wants to find out
Who exists, who looks at me from afar, feels me from above, and gets under my skin
To press close, hovering over suggestive possibilities, leaving me to think of nothing else
Who will make my skin both blaze and cool with his touch
The curve, it blends with angles to create a scape which this man will want to possess-I want a man

How Soon?

Your hands imagine themselves traveling the curves of my hips,
as my hands find themselves dreaming of tracing your face.
My eyes see the tangled sheets, hapless covers thrown
aside in the breathless beating of my heart.
Can words ever mean all they are meant to?
If a picture is worth a thousand words, how much are the words
that frame my heart worth?

My legs intertwine with your legs; they hasten two becoming one.
Your fingers amuse themselves with learning a new language-
the one verbalized by skin on skin.
Which one of my senses will you overwhelm first?
How soon will it take for me to capture the essence of you?

I close my eyes and wait for your call.

We

We talked.
We laughed.
We kissed.
We touched.
He left.

I miss him.

Imagine This

You enter the bathroom to find me in the tub. The water is hot enough for steam to rise occasionally. I’ve sunk down below the surface, so that bubbles clothe me. Slight movements send the cover scattering, fraying it a bit at the edges. Fragments of the frothy blanket float away. I close my eyes.
Candles flicker in several locations, creating an ambient glow. Shadows dance on the wall and on my glistening face. Any skin that rises above the surface becomes immediately cooled. Rainbows glint in hundreds of tiny bubbles.
You smile, study my face, then kneel beside the tub and swirl your finger through the water, our eyes following its progress. I anticipate its trail, not realizing I’m holding my breath. I shift again and skin is revealed. Your eyes find mine and hold them, while your fingers meander just below the surface, creating lazy little eddies wherever they go.
I’m still looking at you when they graze my submerged thigh. My eyes widen, then partially close. The vague lethargy the heat has created in me gains hold over you and you are in no hurry to reach any expected conclusions too quickly.

Pretty Girl

"Nena linda"-I liked the idea of being your pretty girl.
I felt you standing behind me, whispering your palabras in my ear.
I tried to nestle in your warm words as they wrapped their tendrils
around my shoulders.
But I can't wrestle with your hurts, your doubts.
The ghosts of those who've wronged you have caused those tendrils
to wrap themselves too tightly around my neck.
They've choked the life out of what might have been.