DREAMS OF PLATO

DREAMS OF PLATO


She was as sweet as an orange blossom
leaping over newly born daisies.
Her feet wrapped in patent leather shoes
and a face as perfect as a moon in autumn;
a product of two fine gems at Plato’s, but
you won’t recall Plato’s or a blast as hot as
the sun changing the color of the blossoms.

Ignorance on the part of a lazy man - one
she married - never loved; now a poor
widow imperfect burns.

But a small delicate flower is leaping.
She pumps a swing with her strong legs
and runs faster then the boys from her
block. Her eyes her grandmothers,
knowing everything as she rocked
back and forth.

That was before fire, robbed her sight -
alone, she sits on a faded pillow.
Alone on her porch, and sinking deeper
into earth.

She heard laughter from the playground
I watched as a tear rolled onto hollow
cheeks as if a diamond sparkles and
she sees.

Her legs run, carrying her body to
the playground, where Plato’s once
stood, and she leaps onto a slide
and her thighs burn.

Nancy Duci Denofio
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