when I wonder, am I beautiful?

collage 18.3

I think of a flamenco skirt

slowly sinking beneath the water.

As in one final dance, the fabric

wrings itself of its woes

and when it softly lands,

yielding to a new condition of being

compressed by boundless volume,

gladly forgets the world prior.

Encompassed in the wild life

of endless mystery, the skirt,

now a threadbare soul,

allows itself to drift;

not wishing to be current,

nor the wave, but knowing always

it was the ocean who answered:

you are. 

 

-lola 

 

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