An Uncommon Woman
She was tall, but only by hair, hat, and heels
and looked like she rode through life sidesaddle.
Petals of her flowery stature dripped from every pore
as she slowly stepped from the train
as if she were granting a favor.
In every room, every location
which she decided to grace with her charms,
she always made an entrance
– a carefully planned one –
looks consisting of just the right clothes,
the right jewelry,
the right smile.
Purposefully she created a scene
– just one from her collection –
upon passing through the door;
and most often she was coupled;
framed in that doorway,
by a man whose looks were such
that every woman present would have given anything
to have approached on his arm,
being part of the steamy movements
they created with their stroll.
Photographers loved her,
men idolized her,
women disdained her.
Though lovely, her life was not of beauty and fullness
as she portrayed it to be;
not the same from the inside looking out.
No women wanted to be close.
Many men did.
The best men, though, slid away
as they thought either they’d not stand a chance
of gaining her
or they assumed she’d been
with too many.
She had boxed herself in
with being the complete actress
and knew no other path.
Her ways created to seek protection
had robbed her of
the realities of love and laughter.
How she longed
to be invited to a simple barbeque,
to see a movie with a couple of pals,
or to be invited on a picnic.
How she yearned
for the easy way
to be with people – and with herself.
She knew not how to be a woman’s woman
and had had too much of being man’s.
Her days were clouded
with too much silence
and her maps
only showed routes
leading in circles
or to dead ends.
Came the day
when she decided
to push past the circles
and the ends
A quiet day became quieter still.