She Is Me Poem by Alc Harris

Sandalwood
and the hum of busy stitches
drift through memories
on faded photographs.
a gentle hand
that turns a crackling recording
of gospel tunes
and electric guitars,
she sits reading
romance and heroes
while romance evades her sight
and heroes only fall
-
hiding her failings in the small oven
where memories were cooked
and tea leaves danced
in the ochre hue
of yesterdays travels,
she danced in hallways
aiming to please
a jeering crowd,
all except one
who took the gifts
and wrapped them in cobwebs
to open in secret
---
pressing the glistening silver
into small palms
she recited psalms
in anxious tones.
the softest of kisses
could not detract
from the perfect waves
of red
that adorned a head
so distant
so conformed
to ideals
of reform
---
and so she will dance
burn incense
of sandalwood
to rid the blight
of idealist sight

for these three
are she
and she is they
in some small way