Friday, July 24, 2015
HAPPY BIRTHDAY ZELDA SAYRE FITZGERALD!
Chris Cooper – 289 Words
Facebook at Christal Ann Rice Cooper
*Poem written and granted copyright by Christal Rice Cooper
*Image embellishment copyright by Christal Rice Cooper
July 24, 1900 – March 10, 1948
I never died
from the middle-age woman
in the blazing kitchen
to the Trinity of the Holy God.
My life a new Bible
people now want to read.
Stories of me spreading
faster than Chinese Wisterias,
blossoming into even more literary
myth and life . . .
My paper dolls, now alive,
no longer have scars from abortions;
adorn dresses Rumplestilskin would be proud to wear,
and dance like the ballerinas at Carnage Hall.
My face a testimony to the Holy Spirit’s Power,
no longer scarred with eczema
but flawlessly beautiful.
Now, confidence no longer
through my fingers
as I inhabit my pink field,
resting on the holy hill of mirrors,
framed in black and white lace.
My brain now evaporates
into my artistic hands,
and I paint all the colors I never had before.
I paint our tree,
but this time there are no wedges
splintering us apart.
I no longer smell
morphine, embalming fluid, horse serum,
or mad mud,
but only veils of
frankincense, gold, and myrrh;
and his bandana
of pencils and tweed.
I now sit
on the largest branch of the magnolia tree,
its pink flowers still blossom,
even in winter,
its velvet green leaves,
softer than a butterfly’s wing,
the new resurrected me -
no longer the misunderstood artist
or the rejected prophetess
but a transfigured woman,
residing in the home we shared
on Felder Avenue -
the rose garden on one side,
the magnolia tree on the other.
Now all my senses grow young
year by year
as I lean against the magnolia tree,
blooming every flower of every color;
I make a wish for every shooting star
Other Poems Written By Chris Rice Cooper