The mulberry tree in the garden
still green in November
understated in the red, gold chorus line
lets go.
Suddenly, without warning.
Naked.
A fury of large heart-shaped leaves
applauds from the orchestra seats.
Not a slow strip tease
like Tempest Storm
mink
gloves
pearls
floating to the stage.
No storm, no wind.
She
decides the time
to show her skinny-ass limbs.
Shivering in sweater, scarf, gloves
I can’t stop looking.
I want to go out like that
in one fell swoop,
unfastened, undone
dishes left in the sink.
Patty Arbour reads poetry to open her heart and writes to be in conversation with that opening. The best high there is.