Hello My Honey
She was of the ancient path,
frank beauty of flesh and circumstance
desire in desperate motion
perpetual, almost.
Bright flapper in bobs and beads
a bathtub
soaked with gin
open armed, mysterious,
dancing to her own heat.
An age born in her,
the jazzed opening to roaring vistas,
American,
modern in every way.
Her delicious body
now a relic of quaint fire
in the pages of books
her lovely daughters yawn past
her bones still brilliant, lost,
boxed and put away.
