salt-day-afternoon

The wheels we run upon, turn fast but never fast enough for the thankless hoards that weave in and out of the lines, never settling on a theme for their lives or livelihoods.
A current shot through me last night,
One of childhood fantasy actualized.
And why not,
Are I not worthy of such pleasures?
The ground swoons with me causing the weak ankles of my powerful legs to buckle, think of the underground
With its careening mazes, all positioned to confuse the true God from emerging. He’s down there
Waiting, his palms to his face in awe of the lengths we go to separate ourselves from him.
He asks nothing of me.
But I hear the pleas coming up from the sewers when I lay my head to the pavement.
I say lay in the dirt. And I say, sometime soon Dionysus with his cup o’er flowed will twist my lanky limbs into a twig-branch crown.
I rest there at the head of my creator.
Nymph, siren, harlot, philanderess.
Sure…
Why not?
The facts laid out to me like the weather or time of day,
“you are nice on the eyes”
Not near a compliment, but always nice to be reminded.
I feel I have embodied and embraced my womanhood.
I feel the spring of youth, and the fervor of sun kissed rainstorms.