A Poem from Now Might as Well be Then

Ballet in the Piney Woods

Little girl sunsuits littered the wiregrass.
Summer warmed small bronze bodies
that danced on the stage of a fallen oak,
to songbirds’ music from the mayhaw.

They felt, at five, the kiss of butterflies
upon their eyes, breathed honeysuckle air.
Like sylphs set free they twirled, arms open,
gathering the breeze against their bareness.

Chastised for their boldness by older girls
who barged into their glade,
the innocents saw themselves
and were ashamed.

By Glenda C. Beall

Published first by Silver Boomer Books in the anthology "Freckles to Wrinkles."