NOT HERSELF TODAY

Pixellated, like an analog TV
not set up right for digital,
she wonders at what point
she stepped into her body,
became part of the show.
There was a beginning,
but when Was it years ago,
was it now? Like a miser she counts
all the memories she can,
memories never to be spent,
just there for the counting,
the comfort, the glow.
It's not clear what it all adds up to.
She's a step removed from the picture.
She's not herself today.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

LADY'S SLIPPER

the lip of the purple orchid
like a lady's slipper
like Venus's slipper
like love to try on
to slip and slide
across the floor
in a hothouse moment
of wildness


* Leah Armstead lives in Aberystwyth, Wales, where most days she walks by the sea.
She's won writing prizes and published poems in magazines and
anthologies in the US and UK. She has worked as a facilitator of poetry
workshops in many settings such as schools, mental health drop-ins,
psychiatric hospitals, and nursing homes. In addition, she researches
medieval European art and literature.