a poem a day for a year #332

by Amy Turn Sharp


I am very small like my tiny boys.
I am a tiny gypsy and my mother listens to "Rhiannon" on the small transistor radio.
Light pours through the window by the sink and she is golden with long hair and pink lips.
I listen to the music and think about the way I feel like floating.
My mother shakes her narrow hips and I feel love.
There is nothing that can hurt me as this is the seventies.
Nothing can hurt you in the seventies.
I'm sad for you.
You'll never know.