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Washed Ashore
by Kristina Woodhill
Into the clinic's waiting room
Of the weak and the wounded
Latina mother-of-pearl flowed,
Full figure brash in strapless black cami
Matching short-shorts kissing thighs high,
You might hear a sigh, yet,
For no muffin tops, no hour glass
Time held still as that woman is wide and straight,
Solid, aware of her unsubtle under currents
Eyes wink and blink
At this turquoise wave-on-loan
Cool Pacific depths
Sent her here to quench
Our land-locked state
That we might fan
A different heat
With La Nina's blessing
As we glide, guided from luscious light brown
Up those black cliff sides
Our eyes compelled
To scale her shaved skull
Skin softly shadowed
With three days growth
Fielding a feminine Mohawk
Magically swirling in frosted turquoise
Held high by virtue
Of anything is possible
08/02/2016 Author's Note: Hair styles out there right now that are incredible
Posted on 08/02/2016
Copyright © 2024 Kristina Woodhill
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Rob Littler on 08/09/16 at 05:14 PM That we might fan
A different heat
...you certainly fan the flame here in this piece! I hear conversations in the winkblinkstaringpulse of this. |
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