Batik

In the season of falling
rain under open thatch
the colors of the sky
at just end of day bleed
onto fabric being folded
unsold.
Purple sky blue
with gold fish
swim the curve of a
scarf. Green forest sleeps
until next market.

Megan McDonald

I step out in strappy heels at just dusk
on the cliff, hair notes merge in a wind song,
the sax calls a solo lament against the rising wind.
The inbound storm dances
through the trees and underscores
the melody of Maple Leaf Rag.

I sip a cool draft of memories
as I watch the fading light.
The music stirs ripples the satin.
Sequins flash and dance in dreams,
offering the illusion of dancing a tango with the storm.
Arms grip tight the fabric of
trapped magic. I spin in place clipped
shorn of freedom dancing in
shackles across parquet and iron
empty halls await total captivation.

Rag time jazz with swing
I dance the night away ignore the hooting
call of pink sisters. I drown memories
in Singapore slings, ignore the shadow of sorrow
looking out of deep cast eyes.
To avoid the pain of home I lose myself
in the upbeat rhythms of jazz in the park.

Facing the mirror of time
I confront myself in the
void of reality breaking
free to turn
frozen
always frozen
at the start of the dance
molting pink satin feathers
turning one way to return
to safe reality a break
thawing shifting to join
sisters in a final flamingo dance
before
transformation.

Megan McDonald
Inspired by Kitty Dodd’s drawing “Swirling Girlish”