Tell us

Tell me of that worldly girl, with her coffeebitter smile

Tell me what she meant to you, tell us. it’s been awhile.

She didn’t visit often, but when she was in town I knew.

The air felt different, atmosphere changed; I can’t explain it to you.

She made us feel alive, brought back something forgotten but once dreamed

We’d known it once, before we were born. At least that’s how it seemed.

She was electric, her touch was magnetic and her eyes burned so deep,

And when she sang, voice in pain, she’d make the angels weep.

Torn stockings and crooked spine, she was a street-smart sarcastic one

With alluring airs and borrowed promises, she’d invite you along for the fun.

"Would you like to be serenaded beneath a newmoon-black sky?

Here’s a song, I just made it. It’s for the trees, stars, you and I.”

You couldn’t help but follow her, couldn’t help but learn her song.

You were with her the entire time she was there, though the visits were never long.

You were in love, infatuated, in fear of losing her to another

Though you’d been warned “Don’t trust that one” by your domineering mother.

She’d come back wearing another’s ring, someone’s name etched in her skin.

If you’d wait long enough for her stories, eventually she would begin.

"This was a sailor, a boy in the Navy," and she absently touched her shoulder.

His name was above another tattoo, one faded, homedone and much older.

And that date was the day she and her female sweetheart became engaged,

But the woman was hospitalized for a time and returned greatly aged.

They ended on shaky terms, but the woman meant enough to remain

Plainly visible on her right forearm, the numbers meant more “because of the pain,”

She told me fiercely one night, whiskey wet eyes looking into mine.

I nodded, not knowing what to say and that response seemed to be fine.

Her stories were long and changed over time, and her visits grew further apart

From time to time we would receive postcards covered with her art.

Adventures and travels, both real and imagined, were written in her red pen,

And below them a kissmark, a signature and the promise to come again,

But her last visit to this town was several years ago-

I wish I could say what became of her but the truth is that I don’t know.