My Own Amelia E.
(for C.E Laine)
by D. K. Sterling

She's broken glass
(I'd have to say stained)
sharp to fingers
but always interesting
to sift through

with colours that fly
into everything;
even cracks of a sidewalk
when she's walking it.

Spools of long red hair
unwind her--
my own Amelia E.
with monkey wrench...

a goddess still dreaming
of Camelot;
I hope someday she finds it,
til then I'll keep
my fingers crossed.

Attention propelled
when she climbs in
the cockpit,
to speak her mind
and all that jazz

it's something
in the sound of her engine
that makes me feel
she's mapping
a prelude to myself.