I am wearing a Cloak
invisible to some,
seen by others.
It is covered in
lizards and lionesses,
scallions, fennel and myrrh.
Rare jewels are held in place
by articulate embroidery.
Exotic flowers thrive and bloom
on the seams, it seems.
In the Moonlight,
Ravens, on my shoulders, advise Me.
Tinsel, woven in my hair, travels to my waist
as did the tresses of my twenties.
In the Sun,
I sparkle
like the Ring of Fire at Full Eclipse.
This Cloak is significant garb,
finer than the illusions of fashion on Paris runways,
simpler than an apple a day.
Just like this Garment,
My words and Spirit
are gobble-dee-gook to some,
accessible to others.
This Wrap was made for Me.
As a “mature” Woman,
what matters most, is that,
I see MySelf
ensembled and assembled in this way.
To Me,
My Cloak
is warm, mighty and miraculous,
made thick by the experiences of challenge,
yet willingly vulnerable to falling rain.
1/5/18 Jill Rothman
She arrives out of the surf on the eastern shore when the tide is high. She arrives to the sweet sound of the morning...
Photo by Ben White
The tree covered itselfWith a spring cloakOf chartreuse flowersWith a touch of redHe always saidFor a highlightDrama quite complete.Dropping garlandsInto the stream. The condemned...
