|Estelle at 75
Though she grasps the fixed surface upon which
with solid affection, though her left sole
plants itself firmly enough on the ground,
still her shoulders lift as if
with a secret knowledge of wings,
while her right thigh stretches, her right calf
dances and sings, her right ankle
dips its delighted toes into terror and temptation,
the whirling alluring waters of the unknown.
Though her two legs have lived side by side
all her life, the right has its own special way
of touching, speaking, beseeching the left,
as if to discover afresh that mirror-image opposite
Her right leg peeks out like a playful kitten,
a supple snake about to shimmy up a tall vine,
a child whose toe stretches just beyond the edge
of the world that she's come to love.
But her love of the ordinary keeps her left foot
pressed down, the restless whole of her held
by her hand to this spot, as a boat is held back
by its rope to the shore of the pulsating sea.
One can almost brush up against her invisible wings-
silky smooth and nuzzling the breeze-
the wings of a butterfly poised on a flower to drink.