Here and now
 
 
 
I exist in the here and now, 
my life long light step
fearful of being mugged
in the dark alleys of memory.
I sit on this beach trying to divine
meaning in the dragon
I read in a cloud.
 
My sisters are on t.v.
I've heard them, wept
for them, but they
had it much worse.  
 
There were always faces,
fissures in the paint,
pocks in tile.  I'd focus
on them, as if in a mirror.
Lidless eyes and open 
screaming mouths.
Make them testify.
 
And now a dragon.
A wisp of cumulus drops earthward
as if offering reins to ride, 
but I am full of moon wariness,
like a tourist tumbled
   from a snapshot.
Stiff, drugged by lacquer,
lost in an additional dimension.

Virginia Conn