Monday, July 15, 2013

Self Portrait In Budapest

It’s hot and I twist
my hair into a bun,
a spiral system
with glints of light.

The wind has other
intentions, and unwinds
my efforts to bind
a long history of red.

Actress, writer, physicist
and  gypsy mid wife,
all descendants rooted
in these strands.

All strong and strangely
beautiful  women. All
Marias and Sophias
who look down
through a shaft of sunlight,
I will surpass them.

Yet standing
on this bridge, where lions
are winged guardians
of the past

I wonder --
what if I’m possessed
by the commonplace.

A shadow
that makes the water
ripple daily

with  just a girl,
a sea bird
content to drift
and on occasion
dive underneath

for sunken dreams
they once lost,
relinquished. What then --
will the stars withdraw
their patronage?

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