not your average “she,” more the far-end tail of a lizard,
resolute, machiavellian, sometimes spiky and coy
she could dance like a magnifying glass in the sun, burning up
a bright, bright, floral red…
her pumpkin carving could have been a college level graduate course
and she would have taught, wearing some kind of Costello glasses
not needing to demand your attention… (because she already had it, of course)
she would have been strict but fair,
“estricto pero justo!” se dice
her voice could knock you out with one punch
the coup de grace viva voce
she could make the lilliputian feel significantly larger
simply by talking about it, for her voice could carve air
into words… she was a cowgirl without a ranch, she could,
after all, beat you at poker before the cards were even dealt
she made peeking at the infinitesimal
feel welcoming, a shower of love for all those who, too, were willing
to view like she did.
she could stand on her toes like a ballerina, no, just the big toe
exactly like a ballerina; she could and would cast anything aside
simply for a moment of purity, stripping away all the (bacon?)
nonsense for that one, tiny, seemingly trivial, moment.
