She did and was art--might make and wear
a nurturing kerchief, let's say, or transformwith shears and thread one old dress into one new
shawl. Often she carried a purse full of verse.
Ears and fingers teased light with rings. Food:
not baked or boiled into submission, no:
She concocted it like magic, revealed it with
a flourish, delighted in delicious noises guests
might make while eating. She listened artistically,
seizing well said words. Even with pain,
propped with a cane, she turned a walk into a
subtle scene. Envious dull ones liked to accuse
her of showing off. They were right and wrong.
Off? Not so much. Showing? Sure. For her notion
was that life, a surprise, came from darkness,
showed itself, revised itself: a pageant,
a play, a making, a day to dramatize night,
a quip to set off laughter before darkness fell again.
