Pantoum on Aerial Silks

Comstock Review

Pantoum on Aerial Silks

Worn by a body so callow and artful, the silks lie still.

Their spiraling so tissue-like, tearful, windswept,

hammocking my child as her muscles will

them into submission.  Summer’s gone unchecked.

Their spiraling so tissue-like, tearful, windswept,

she knots, climbs, drops, shy faith handing

them into submission.  Summer’s gone unchecked.

Even in the fog of girlhood, she is standing.

She knots, climbs, drops, shy faith handing

over the vertical embrace, a windmill, mild strength.

Even in the fog of girlhood, she is standing,

this cloth a loose tabernacle to hold at arm’s length. 

Over the vertical embrace, a windmill, mild strength.

This should be an age of flutter and daring,  

this cloth a loose tabernacle to hold at arm’s length. 

The cabin girls watch simmering and swearing.

This should be an age of flutter and daring,

hammocking my child as her muscles will.

But the cabin girls watch simmering and swearing.

Worn by a body so callow and artful, the silks lie still.