She was no violet fading
or shrinking. America may
become the fabled damn’d,
the disgraceful poet said.
She cared what friends said
but she had her own mind.
She was in love with ghosts,
or so they seemed, these men
who passed by her room
knowing better not to pause
though her womanhood
would not have minded,
she knew sex through death
and men who never paused.
(21 January 2014)
copyright 2014 by Floyce Alexander
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