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Waning Moon
Rubbing Chamomile Rose on aging skin,
to feel real, normal, despite a small
white cap on a shiny head.
Sinead O' was so beautiful singing,
"Nothing compares..."
Melissa E. rocking on without shame.
Scarves by day - rainbow badges of courage?
Moving slowly, a scarved pheasant woman
blinking at a world going by.
A Victoria Secret nightgown
will be tucked away in memories. "Still Me"
garments like ladies in waiting lie in drawers.
But the moon will still glide over the sky,
shape-shifting every few evenings, and
I will be a waning moon.
Windows
I was a child who opened up my bedroom window.
Played Bing Crosby's, "Ali-Baba and the Forty Thieves"
loud,
wishing to be heard.
I was an adolescent who opened up my bedroom window.
Played Elvis Presely's, "Blue Hawaii"
loud,
wishing to be loved.
Now I am a woman opening up my bedroom window,
silent in thoughts before an operation
that would throw part of me away,
wishing to be a child again
with that "Doggie in the Window" simplicity
in those forever summers.
Pamela MacBean's poetry has been published in the US, UK, and Canada, including recently
Interpoetry.com, Subtletea.com, Adagio Verse Quarterly, and poetexpress.com.
She won a prize from Open Mind's Quarterly this year.
She has had two poetry books published, A Dalton View,
and Postscripts in Time. Pamela MacBean resides in New Hampshire.
Email: Pamela MacBean
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