Climbing Up Out Of The Ashes

The Older Woman

I was over a decade older than you and you taught me well.
good enough for the ivy leagues of social awareness,
babes among scholars, penciling my name in on the test paper,
so sad your teachings fell upon the inept brain of a fool.

Life of string neon shades was never my calling,
so I deliberately answered the questions wrong when asked.
your look of confusion never gazed into my smug face of joy.
when you did look at me I pretended to be ashamed,
hiding my twinkle of comfort by adjusting my glasses.

So we became separates in a tub of melted butter and spices.
me the golden silent liquid marinating,
as you add flavor, colors, heated tastes into the bowl of hunger.

One day you may ware me down and out.
I may ace that test of social placidity,
but for now I'm your fool, melting, older than churned April's.

The Older Woman, The Student Of The Young Warrior.