by Jacqueline Reeves
It has been a typical day
Of chores, grocery shopping,
Visiting with a neighbor,
Phone calls made and received.
Nothing special. Not in her harsh world.
Not any more. One day blends
Into the next without notice,
Hardly a ripple made in life's pond.
Only her delicate, expressive hands
Speak to a patrician upbringing.
As night comes on,
She feels an uptick, a tingle,
Somewhere in her spine
Like she used to on opening night.
Excitement begins to build
And she carefully applies
Her makeup and loosens
Her long, grey, silky hair,
From its usual tight bun,
Letting it flow freely.
In her closet is a soft, cashmere gown
Which she dons carefully, lovingly.
Vivaldi's Spring plays softly
On her Bose sound system,
A gift from an admirer years ago.
She dances, swaying, twirling, posing
And for these exquisite moments,
She's young and lithe again,
A sprite dancing in the forest,