She has a tattooed bird with wings
upon her shoulder
and a glisten of sweat on her her neck, yet
oblivious to the steam grates on Park Avenue
billowing her linen dress to her thighs,
She walks the street with clogs
The clip clop of her soles
Sandal-shod and toned, olive golden legs,
Her calves wrapped in leather straps,
Seductively clothed in her Pagan beauty,
in a light summer dress,
And taught straps that cut into her bronzed shoulders,
As if some one reached for her briefly, then the blood returned.
She struts through the Madison Ave crowd
Standing out with her peasant stock body
then, she glides in her environment
Like a feline who knows the streets
And like a falcon riding on a cross street thermal
To some pagan god in a cloud,
Her eyes behind dark sunglasses,
So as not to reveal the long plundered gems of greek statues.
John Thomas Tansey
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem