The 12 inch heel, the confident gait, The measured steps, the sudden halt, The blush on cheeks, the smoldering eyes, The hands on hips, head held high, The silken gown, barely there, A tilt of neck, balanced well, The sultry glance, timed right, Perfect half twirl, played twice, With a graceful swirl, she turns back. The world looks on with stolen breath, Oohs, aahs, applauds, encores. The showstopper’s yesterday, Now hangs in a gallery, Fading parchment, guarded unnecessarily. No shadows of glamour come a-chasing, For vacant eyes and sagging skin, For shattering illusions, hanging questions, Am I never going back? Linking with The Mag : Mag 147 Linking with Write on Edge : The Red Writing Hood - The Gallery Linking with My blog can beat up your blog : 100 Word Song : Never going back to Ok Linking with The Velvet Verbosity : 100 Words - Breath
This was very tiny on my computer screen, but well worth the eye strain. I miss my mom's meat loaf!
ReplyDeleteI am sorry for the inconvenience. I have repeated the text separately.
DeleteThank you so much.
Isn't that the truth? There's quite a few recipes I wish I could ask my mother to make again.
ReplyDeleteIt is almost always difficult to recreate mother's magic.
DeleteVery true. No one makes it quite like Mama makes it. That is why I am glad that I had the presence of mind to have my mom tell me how to make everything and wrote down her recipes before she died. My Grandma used to be a really great cook, could make all this stuff from memory. Then she got Alzheimers and all that was gone, no one thought to get her to tell them how she did it before then.
ReplyDeleteThat sounds really cool. Having noted all her traditional trade-secrets will give you a great edge ;-) And plus this way she will be always with you. Distant, yet a notebook away.
DeleteYou've captured this truth beautifully!
ReplyDeleteThank you Genna
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