Poem: Lines, Margins, and Spotlights

 A woman with chestnut hair, alabaster skin, 

drives a light-green Prius with ski racks

through a 4-way stop sipping something to go

in a white cup, mocha or skinny latte, 

while talking through her Bluetooth.

She gets up at 5:00 a.m., does yoga

for an hour then gets her bonny boy up 

for homework check and breakfast and hugs

all before she showers for work.

During the day she teaches second grade.

At night she sings at The Infinity, wears

a light gray sequined dress, pulls her 

impossibly, curly hair up with a blue ribbon 

which spills all over the tie. She stands 6’1”. 

Her eyes mirror oceans in greens and blues. 

Sway, sway with a slow rhythmic pat to her hip.

She opens her pouty mouth and words 

pour out in sultry melodies: Lilting and throaty,

endearing and erotic. When she sings,

she escapes her world, fluttering upward 

like butterflies escaping a cave.

Its fire. Its shadows. 

She performs at all times: Mommy, teacher,

singer, inside perfectly constructed margins,

under every spotlight. She does some coke

at intermission in the dressing room. 

When her seven-year-old is with his Daddy

on weekends, she pulls the curtains, 

releases the blinds, draws the needle 

between her toes, shines like constellations.

                                 by Patty Cole

                                  Previously published in the Broad River Review, 2020