Ellen

Debra Simon
Nov 10, 2019 · 1 min read
By Jay Castor on Unsplash

When I think of you, words become wastrels
idling in the murky shadows of my mind-
or worse-
impulsive verbal vagabonds
hopping on for a joyride from potent metaphors,
to dissipate like waning fireworks
into the black of night.

I could never describe how you made me feel
because only you
could dance in canoes:
flaming yellow spiky hair,
dandelion wild,
reflected in the glassy mirror of our lake
with primary color power
like a comic book superhero.

You’d pull me onboard
and row to our early morning hiding place
to watch water lilies open
and witness regeneration.
You placed lilies in your hair,
reborn as
Catskill Cleopatra-
a goddess-like feminist icon
unencumbered by acne,
teenage angst,
or 1970’s female limitations.

After all these years
I have no social media words,
just my silent movie memories-
brilliant flashing images
of how you were-
and I hope
that you still glide,
empowered
like an Egyptian queen
on a golden vessel with purple sails,
surrounded by newly opened lilies
of endless possibility.

Blue Insights

All Writers— Be Heard. Sharing emotions — Spark plugs to ignite your virtual humanity.

Debra Simon

Written by

Freelance writer, teacher, exuberant knitter, lover of words and dogs

Blue Insights

All Writers— Be Heard. Sharing emotions — Spark plugs to ignite your virtual humanity.

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