Saturday, February 12, 2011


It seemed reasonable in those first few weeks
after the Elvis-costume-making party,

And also when the girls were young 
and princesses seized control of the kingdom.

Now it appears, like nothing in nature
except perhaps a virus, traveling
from door-handle to palm,
falling off sweaters,
settling on corduroy.

Does it alight even on the hunter
deep in the jungle,
Sparking wonder at this sliver of starlight?

Does he worship the speck, tiny mirror,
Or sense the distance it traveled to connect 
the enormity of this small world?

And what of his have I?


Paula Jean said...

Love this!
My girls call glitter the "herpes of the craft world." Just thought you'd like that image, too. :-)

Sherry said...

I've seen the glitter that decorates your eyes from time to time, so I can't think of it as all bad (the only possibility I can think of). Love your poem though!