In the gaze of the other

"My mistress' eyes are nothing…"

Nose for Flight

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Resounding pounding booming voices,

we walk as tribe towering through town–

big women, muscular and thick.

Known for our beakish noses and long necks,

the women in our family walk tall and short

thin and squat, spoon and saucer, some

tea and coffee drinkers, sweet and savory,

all manner of political persuasion, religions

zealots and atheists all, strong and quiet

loud and soft, self-realized and delusional,

married and single, childless and family’d,

but we share too bountiful brows and thin

lips or thin, hairless arcs with thick bottoms.

No one escaped freckles, some splotched

others speckled like paint splatter, touched.

Hair painted blonde, brown, blue, red or rust

from birth or bottle, we live color and light.

Our faces trace aspect of notable signature

only ours and fragmented chromosomal bits

of all those big feet that marched soils’ exile

from Siberia to Spain’s royal anti semites

of centuries past onto gypsies roaming free

dancing to the colors of a rhythmic breath

breathed in noses shaped for soaring flight.

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