My Principality

Did she get ready in a slapdash rush…did her husband help with the metal snaps that ran along her side…did she spritz perfume on her neck and wrists or prefer to walk into a cloud of scent…how long did she hold out hope for a daughter before resigning herself to the tender cruelty of raising four sons? 

And did she have an inkling that, someday, her great-granddaughter—the baby she held in her sunspot dappled arms—would find her trunk, tucked away in a secret storage space at the family farm, and uncover these wrinkled dresses folded between 1930’s newspaper? 

Your little voice…

your little voice
Over the wires came leaping
and i felt suddenly
dizzy
With the jostling and shouting of merry flowers
wee skipping high-heeled flames
courtesied before my eyes
or twinkling over to my side
Looked up
with impertinently exquisite faces
floating hands were laid upon me
I was whirled and tossed into delicious dancing
up
Up
with the pale important
stars and the Humorous
moon
dear girl
How i was crazy how i cried when i heard
over time
and tide and death
leaping
Sweetly
your voice

-E E Cummings