Charlotte,
prickling leaves while
her reclining posture
whispers an invitation, told
of truth.

The wind
awaits her voice
that mocks despair, her tree
ruffles yet remains quiet, and
steadfast.

Damsel,
in blue gingham
by angel’s wings she sings –
broken, igniting fierceness,
she mends.

***********

Some observations about this poem. I’ve never personally known or physically met anyone named Charlotte. I follow a couple of blogs and have read several other blogs this week written by women named Charlotte. It’s coincidental, yet fascinating to me that so many Charlottes present their writing on blogs that I should read in one week. I love the sounds the name makes. It’s a name made to be whispered.