four leaf clover, celtic knotwork


Opening pleasantries with a pretty room
Done over for comfort; played in rose
Made in the absence of its owner
Allow her the satisfaction
Of kicking her worn boots to the corner
So clever spills out and about her socks
In rose pile
Like clover in a spring-time field
When last did she reach to her reclining side
And to the amazement of mostly herself
Exclaim on four perfect leaves
When boundaries between what is and what could be
Left themselves for the definition of her elders
On powders of potent wonder
She could sell them and buy this pretty room

There is knowledge in the world
She has more than her fair share
Of that she is sure
If only it had come better packaged
With more of the instructions which seem simple
To everyone but her
She has special powers and perhaps that is compensation
She has come home

She wants to travel farther than any woman before her
Farther than any woman has wanted
She needs no road map
The clever is enough
She’ll spill it behind her
Like fine white pebbles from a boy’s fingers
If it was enough to save him from the woods,
Surely she can be secure
And know that if she loses her way
The way back at least is clear

Opening pleasantries
She bows
Knowing the room will not care that
Her socks are dirty
And do not match