Wicker wine skin made of straw
holds the bottle tightly beside itself
as if the bottle and the cover are one.
The neck of the bottle protrudes forth
curving up sharply, long and straight.
A slender candle sticks out of its narrow mouth
as if sticking its long red tongue out, bright one
while melted remnants flow from the bottles crest
to the wide brimmed bottom of the wicker straw.
A cascade of colors, a covered bottle waterfall mate.
*Oct. 24, 2002. I never seem to be able to find the right category for these poems . . . oh well. Suppose that it's not the category that matters.
Ok, on the advise of Peg I changed this one to memoir.
She never felt safe at home as a young girl, and didn't understand why when she finally escaped she wasn't safe in the big wide world either ...effectively jumping out of the frying pan into the fire!
Rosetta was born in 1909 as the youngest of ten children. The family had more laughter than money and neighbors would knock on their door to ask, "Can we come in and laugh, too?"
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Jenni