Small talk potluck smiles
Clench my jaws tight
Just like stage fright
An hour of social delight
In a less-traveled corner
My weathered friend
I finally gird myself
With long laces
Of furry boots
Where are you going?
You ask with sorrow
A three-year-old
Wingless
Christmas archangel
With unclouded eyes
I’m going home
Is all
I hear myself say
Wishing
I could stay and tell you
I don’t really know
©2010 Dosia McKay
this is a beautiful poem