Monday, July 16, 2007


My fingers slide over the control panel, grazing velvet leaves the color of dove’s wings, softer than a rabbit ear, and I am released by a perfect bundle of dried lavender tied heartily in shiny, silver-spun ropes, heaven drifting upward to my face, and I am lead to bliss by translucent red and blue beads strung together in a child’s Morse code on fanciful plastic strings, dots and dashes picking up stray shafts of light, and I am illuminated by perfectly spaced garnet-colored jewels traced with antique loops of wire, curved and swaying like the hips of a Spanish lady, draped in sweet silence, black lace fan over lips to hide a smile, and I am exhilarated by a shred of frayed purple silk ribbon fashioned to the steering wheel, a string for remembering that my fingers find blindly, giving to twist then turn at the sight of something beautiful rising out of sadness, and I am. Aleathia Drehmer 2007

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