10/2/08_Poem by Betina Hershey Russo
Sometimes I realize
All of my pretty dreams
And my even pulpier un-dreams
Are hanging by a thread.
Here I am, balancing
On the prettiest, littlest wire
While this little gem and that little bead
And those lovely weaves
Dangle from a golden stitch
That is oh, oh, so thin.
Amazing, how that thread holds!
Winds blow! Oh, they gust!
The wire sculpture sways.
It quivers and shivers in each thrust.
Amazing, how I remain
With at least one foot, or no,
One tiny toe planted
Upon the tinsel frame, the iron wreath
Of my pretty life.
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