(Photo: Cold Sunrise)
White Women Don’t Wear Ponytails
I want to be astonished
I want to be amazed
I want to stand at the edge of a cliff and yell out through my lungs almost half crazed.
I want to sail across the ocean.
I want to soar up in my balloon.
I want to play a guitar and a flute while I stand tranquil on the back side of the moon.
I want to sail as an eagle, over the mountains so high.
It’s a wonder what a good night’s sleep will do…I feel at least 10 foot high.
I want to bridge any gaping holes
between countries or peoples or friends
I want to be like the Rock of Gibraltar
a person solid on whom people depend.
I want to make art and parties
and maybe marry the two
upon a yacht that I run ’round the Cape ’cross the Atlantic
and then on over (at last) to you…
Maybe up then to cold Alaskan waters…
and maybe down then and back again
trekking the globe like a traveler light
with a map and a compass and gin
I want to do all things today
happy and chocked full of life
and when I rest I will lay me down
as an Appalachian women-mother-wife.
I want to jet up through the sky
in an aero plane full of my friends
and then drop down through blankets of thermal warmed water
in scuba where I risk the bends
When I awoke this morning
my hair stood straight up near the top part of my head
from a tossin’ and a turnin’ all night in my dreams
as an undercover spy or as a teacher or as a heroine in a country foreign again
White women like me over 50 don’t wear ponytails
piled up high on the top of their heads
but today I’m gonna do my ballet turns in my sweats
with my hair pinned up high just the way I woke up with it in my bed.
[A sort of “Walter Mitty” I suppose I am
of women throughout time
who dream dreams of misadventure
and seek their fortune, love and pleasure
in fancy made up games along the way
This I offer up-a hearty “salute”
to all of my secret sisters
who like me find themselves seeking
behind the curtain peeking
of the secret life within.]