Musings by The Poet Loriet
Almost A Diva, Six Steps Removed
Almost A Diva, Six Steps Removed
At night, when anything's possible,
my dreams transform me
into an apriring starlet,
creamy smooth gown
by Jessica McClintock,
virginal with lace and ruffles,
white gardenias tucked
in my dark tresses...
Perhaps a shimmering
barely-there cocktail number
in the sheerest pink
designed by Dior--
at a garden party.
I twirl upon rose petal
pathways lined with
lush fertile greenery.
Or perhaps an eccentric
Auntie Mame ensemble
adorned with plumes,
violet broche upon
my generous bosom,
should I discover fame
later in life.
Even as I dream,
I schlump in wrinkled scrubs,
at least six steps removed
from descending
the spiral staircase
at THE Hollywood
party of the year
to a room filled
with Ooohs and Aaaahs.
Nope, the closest I've come
is being a bellydancer
on stages perfumed
with exotic jasmines.
I finger my dance costume,
lovingly letting the cool beads
dangle from my fingers...
beautiful indigo blue,
glittery silver, shimmery gold,
studded with Aurora Borealis,
hip panels, costume bra,
wrist cuffs, hair barettes.
It cost a fortune,
and the first time I wore it,
I couldn't believe it was me
staring back from the mirror.
I could have been a diva,
if only for a night,
but life changes
have halted my dreams.
I won't be in the show,
not this year...
So I gingerly fold
the costume
that has never danced
and place it on the highest shelf,
alongside forgotten
wisteria dreams.
Lori Beal
At night, when anything's possible,
my dreams transform me
into an apriring starlet,
creamy smooth gown
by Jessica McClintock,
virginal with lace and ruffles,
white gardenias tucked
in my dark tresses...
Perhaps a shimmering
barely-there cocktail number
in the sheerest pink
designed by Dior--
at a garden party.
I twirl upon rose petal
pathways lined with
lush fertile greenery.
Or perhaps an eccentric
Auntie Mame ensemble
adorned with plumes,
violet broche upon
my generous bosom,
should I discover fame
later in life.
Even as I dream,
I schlump in wrinkled scrubs,
at least six steps removed
from descending
the spiral staircase
at THE Hollywood
party of the year
to a room filled
with Ooohs and Aaaahs.
Nope, the closest I've come
is being a bellydancer
on stages perfumed
with exotic jasmines.
I finger my dance costume,
lovingly letting the cool beads
dangle from my fingers...
beautiful indigo blue,
glittery silver, shimmery gold,
studded with Aurora Borealis,
hip panels, costume bra,
wrist cuffs, hair barettes.
It cost a fortune,
and the first time I wore it,
I couldn't believe it was me
staring back from the mirror.
I could have been a diva,
if only for a night,
but life changes
have halted my dreams.
I won't be in the show,
not this year...
So I gingerly fold
the costume
that has never danced
and place it on the highest shelf,
alongside forgotten
wisteria dreams.
Lori Beal
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Almost A Diva, Six Steps Removed
Almost A Diva, Six Steps Removed
