Single Brown Woman On Fridays

Single Brown Woman On Fridays short poem

Photo by Matt Preston

Shiny little lights on the ceiling
reflect intermittently what’s within
There’s no space for our bodies to gasp
and that crude cry’s lost in the making.

Shiny skin on my arms
potent with sweat and charms of tonight
we twirl and twist as if in discomfort.
Till the shoe comes off at midnight.

Poet’s Note:
If you have ever been to a club on Friday night and have danced drunk without any inhibitions, you will know what I am talking about. In the middle of the dance floor, in the midst of fun, you will have a moment of clarity and self-realization. This little poem is about that.

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Arunlekha Sengupta

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Not always for me the unspoken. Not always for me the subtle. Not for me the mildly hinted. Not for me the whispered. I thrive on the oft-repeated. In the shouted.I am a writer. By birth and hobby and profession and soul and .... But I am a reluctant writer. Words come out of me fully-formed but with reticence. What about you?
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