Sunday, May 24, 2009

DALLY DANCER


Plates yellow with yolk Cemented by syrup In stacks.
 Silverware Gathered and scattered With glasses and bowls.
 Dripping pans, greasy pots Drying and sticking together.
 No release from the chore Or hope of escape or parole.
 But, lightened, distracted By music; and being alone,
 She shook back her hair in the sunbeams,
 Kicked off her sandals,
 And danced and danced And danced.

7 comments:

olivia said...

Love it. :)

Jeannelle said...

Oh, I feel right at home in this wonderful poem. My sink is stacked full of dishes needing washed.....and sometimes I do dance in the kitchen if no one is watching.

ELIZABETH said...

Been there. You captured it. *grin*
I've been known to sing off key as well.

Flea said...

:)

Country Girl said...

This could be me. Or my mother. She was like this, too.

M said...

Love the picture, the poem, and the combination of both. Beautiful and fresh.

Woman in a Window said...

I wish I let loose more often. But I think if I did the dishes would never get done. They barely do now.

I loved it. Bring on the poetry!