Dipping

Sheri Fresonke Harper, Yahoo! Contributor Network
Jun 19, 2009 "Share your voice on Yahoo! websites. Start Here."

Back when I'd get a chance
to sing, I added layers --
first sweater over tee,
then woolen hat, cotton gloves,
paper coat, rubber sleeves,
gloves. Then crammed
goggles over safety glasses.

All clothed to protect
eyes and flesh,
ready to begin in back room
where cold flapped doorway,
let in our painter's
invigorating winter
I called cold.

His paint booth waterfall
Roared continously, swallowed
up noise and since no one else was near,
I dipped stacks of parts
singing all alone --
while removing resist
to reveal message of import.

Each time: clamped metal sheet,
immersed in caustic soda,
watched bubbles swarm purple,
checked out part.
If stripped bare to aluminum,
doused in swirl of H2O
and hung out to dry.

Then I'd give in to the urge
to let body move and sway.
I'd sing
as only the unheard sing
my entire repertoire.
I'd render love songs
to cement walls.

And now when the urge
comes to sing
as only the purple soul
etched by guilt and critique sings,
I scrub off decades,
slough off layers and then
sing out truth.

* published in "Decal Maker"

Published by Sheri Fresonke Harper

Sheri works as a freelance writer, novelist and poet. She worked in the aviation industry at the Port of Seattle and Boeing Company for 20 years as a systems analyst/architect where she edited and wrote over... View profile

Dipping

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