T E Ballard

Oh And How They Danced

At the end of my forearm, fingers move, flutter;
bird trapped in flight, repeating patterns of no escape.
I cannot find this place where they connect to flesh and bone,
hands which fold and unfold.
Dance to say he was here, he is here, he is gone.

I wear blue flannel, button missing from the sleeve,
breathe in smell, no longer his but mine.
Touch eyes closed and remember how he kissed each lid,
entered in. Still I leave his suitcase by the door.
Watch myself move across a room, alone.

Behold The Ties That Bind

Connection between these two
blond ones
which fold and unfold on to me
like shadows.

Lines of steel, granite, thousand
threads combined
to pull us; mother, daughter
one to the other.

Wind change, frailty of line
and I know,
simple breath from god,
we are but dust.

Brown fibres from abdomen,
either held down
or dangling above
this one possibility.

Without these tiny arms,
legs on hip,
I would be free.
I would be lost.

Teresa Ballard is an artist and writer living in the Midwest. She is the mother of two young girls and the director of Art Power which brings professional art to inner city youth. She was born a watcher and has grown into a writer. She believes words have power and can change the world. It is our job to listen.

You may find more of her work on-line at "Green Tricycle", "Nectarzine", featured poet in "The Writer's Hood" and in the book Solid Ground.