At the book fair
for self-published authors
my table was next to hers.
Happenstance?
We hardly stopped
talking and laughing.
She’d written her own
spiritual adventure
prose shining like poetry
in a hall of atrocious verse.
She was Crone, skinny 81,
wool cap around her ears
a light festoon of grey curls
embroidering her chin.
Age, she understood,
had made her whole.
We were sisters at once,
magickal.
[Poem #51]
This began as a game some bloggers played in 2008, to write about people who'd made an impact, in the same number of words as one's age, every day for a year. I did them less often and went on longer, adding one word each birthday. I stopped in 2016 and incorporated them into my main poetry blog. In 2019 I resumed the project and gave it its own blog again, with a new name, where it may unfold at its own (slow, intermittent) pace. I've labelled these verse portraits, but they're more like quick sketches: mere glimpses, impressions....
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