Songstress at 75 by Damiana Blume

Last night’s bourbon still sits on the small table
before her velvet couch.
Ice long melted away, one drop at a time like tears
dripping from Ray’s tenor sax.
Its notes, higher and brighter now than the voice she rode
through night trains in Mobile and Memphis.
She stumbles to the mirror. She doesn’t recognize that face
staring back at her from there. That face staring back the years
of juke joint johns on high flyin,’ high flurtin,’ bourbon nights.
Her hand, once delicate and sure, knarled now and brown speckled
balances the blond wig on her head.
a little too blond, a little too low on her brow.
Her hand hesitates as she smears memories across her lips,
a little too red.

 Damiana Blume is a writer/artist living in the west Texas city of El Paso, where she creates pictures in both words and paints.  Her interests include education through travel and the advancement of the arts. As a transplant from rural northern New York, she sees the differences in the environments offered by the natural world and draws upon this diversity in her work.