Poetry by Cynthia Bowen

 

SEA GLASS

 

When I am old
I shall plunge wrinkled weathered feet
Into soft, yielding sand
Feel it sift through my toes
And settle in my soul

 

When I am old
I shall stroll along the surf
Searching for ancient sea glass
Swept from the bottom of the ocean
And tossed by the wave of a hand
To land

 

When I am old
My rough surface will be worn sleekly smooth
From decades of rolling tides
And my jagged edges will be carved curves
Made perfect for holding and caressing
By the sands of time

 

 

PALM WILD

 

There is a wild woman in my back yard.
I've glimpsed her meanderings from behind
closed blinds,seen her chicken scratchings
on barren ground.

 

Perhaps she isn't aware neighbors spot her
down there, in the early morning light, half naked,
unkempt, unwashed, her hair a tangled
and matted crest.

 

She's climbing sunflowers to kiss their dark faces,
spreading her legs over the flowering jasmine vines,
burrowing into the compost pit,
stretching to lean inside honeysuckle,
blowing angel trumpets.

 

I saw her dancing with the palm tree.
Together they swayed and clapped to the rhythm of the
whispering wind.