For as long as I can remember, I've had the need to write. Until I made it a second career, I began the very bad habit of writing things that were never dated or organized in any way. There's poetry and prose tossed into neglected boxes, tucked inside books, jotted on scraps of yellowed paper and pasted into silverfish-nibbled journals that are hiding somewhere in the dusty attic, I suppose.
But as I read them now (the ones I can actually find), I realize that many of my penned thoughts are universal. I'm sharing some in hopes you can relate.
I wrote "Fantasy" when I was somewhere in my 30s; it's still relevant today. And the answer is still the same.
Yes, in cotton dress I would remain.
Fantasy
Sometimes it seems my mirror lies
And sees me through judgmental eyes
So I retreat behind an aging face
And dress myself in mental lace
I see myself as dancing free
Beneath the old magnolia tree
I touch my neck and pearls appear
My eyes, like diamonds, crystal clear
Surrounding me are precious things
Upon young hands are golden rings
My clothing satin, soft and fine
I sip from crystal finest wines
But illusions only last awhile
Reflections offer no denial.
I stand alone, in cotton dress
My hands against the mirror pressed
If I could but for one day be
The woman in the fantasy,
Would I escape and youth regain?
Or would I in cotton dress remain?
Connie Strong
* Edited from a previous version that was recognized and published by Texas Poetry
Society
