She sits on a bench beneath a tree
In a coat made from scraps and rags
A riot of color and shape sewn together
Higgledy piggledy madcap marvelous
Bespectacled eyes held between crows feet parentheses
A million fine lines shaping her face
As she watches passers by
Maybe humming to herself,
Or swinging her legs as if the girl inside
Had never left, was still eight and wide eyed.

At her feet is a great carpet bag
Rendered magical by anachronism
A refugee from some spinster aunts rummage sale
That could very easily contain anything
From sweets to a brass hatstand
Or a doorway to other worlds
But it holds none of that,
Its contents are so much better
In there she holds The Words.

In dips her hand and out comes “sunshine”
To be scattered about her feet into puddles
After the rain, or “iridescent” that pins itself
To starlings’ wings in hues of black on black
She strings them together
Hangs them like bracelets or neckties
Parceling them out, making everyone beautiful
Showing the drab and the grey “wonder”
Confounding the lonely with “comfort”.

She weaves lovers’ together
A phrase or two can escalate hand holding
To something much more heated
All of her words pulled and plucked perfectly
Falling into place where needed most
Each and every one a gift
Leaving nothing for herself
All of her pearls adorn the ones who need them best
Without thought for herself.

So it goes, the ones who sow grace
Never gain from the reaping
If you see her, for she is everywhere
Lean down, whisper in her ear
Just a word or two, I’m sure you can spare them
It really is such a small price
For such splendid charity.

Ever since I first saw the name wordrummager
I’ve been trying to write this, hopefully it is well received, cheers 🙂

3 Responses to “Wordrummager”

  1. her son too Says:

    a caring portrait
    so you did turn the k’scope!

  2. theodore tinpan mckinley Says:

    “swinging her legs…”
    wonderful, absolutely wonderful

  3. touched by the poet's grace Says:

    never to lose its shine

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