Wilting daisies crown her head.
Twined in double-chain necklace
wilted more, they weep happiness
like old mood-rings on blue-veined hands.
Bare knees peek out
beneath tie-dyed ruffled skirt.
Tire-tread sandals grace her feet,
big toes polished in fireworks.
She seeks nothing now,
mind enveloped in hazy blur.
Nothing but a return to youth
before the savagery of time.
Love IS. Love the world.
Love everyone as your kin.
Crooked sloppy words
painted on torn off shingle.
She holds it high for no one to see,
proud of its weathered look.
Blotched spots drip from letters
like tears shed in her dementia world.
At seventy-one, determined to return,
she roams these Woodstock fields
empty now, save her memories.
In her mind, she is there,
back in her revolutionary days.
Merril is hosting Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Today she asks us to consider the idea of revolution. We can write about it in any way: revolution of the planets, a spinning top, a political revolution, new ideas and inventions, medical discoveries. You get the idea.