No palms dolled up the tedium, no breathing wind. No problem was the buzzword then, their way to go. In truth, my case was black as sin, a thing to hide, In that they feigned to find me sane, so not to know. Someone brought in a medium. Anathema! Some clown sewed up my eyes, he said it wouldn't show. Confusing hands with craze, they howled, "Let's cut them off." Confusing, too, their spies, my lies without an echo. Time and again they stitched my mind with warp and woof. Time pounded in my ruby heart, doing a slow, Slow dim-out in that lupanar, slow take, slow fade, Slow yawning like a door. "Hello," I said. "HELLO." There, flung across the room between inside and out, There must have shown itself to me. . .an afterglow. With such a blaze to celebrate where centuries meet With time itself, how could I hesitate? Although Still trapped in the millennium I knew I had Still time to blow some kisses. Look up, there they go!
Dorothea Tanning - 1910-2012
Woman Waving to Trees
Not that anyone would notice it at first. I have taken to marveling at the trees in our park. One thing I can tell you: they are beautiful and they know it. They are also tired, hundreds of years stuck in one spot— beautiful paralytics. When I am under them, they feel my gaze, watch me wave my foolish hand, and envy the joy of being a moving target. Loungers on the benches begin to notice. One to another, "Well, you see all kinds..." Most of them sit looking down at nothing as if there was truly nothing else to look at until there is that woman waving up to the branching boughs of these old trees. Raise your heads, pals, look high, you may see more than you ever thought possible, up where something might be waving back, to tell her she has seen the marvelous.