He Called Me Chloe
He Called Me Chloe
(for John and all the reasons why)
It was a mere slip, a teasing leftover
from a traveling museum, twisting
itself around a Midwesterner's tongue,
turning a mock scolding
into one of those 'forever' moments.
He meant to call me 'Cleo'
as in 'patra', of course,
she, who embodied feminine attitude
before it had a name....'DIVA'!
But instead he called me Chloe.
I remember the silence
that followed, that look of 'ut oh'
battling with bubbling laughter...
Chloe? Who is that?
A quirky Cleo?
Laughter won and I became his Chloe
at that moment, the perfectly
imperfect diva, stubborn and willful,
yet still soft and playful.
His Chloe, who knew
what that wink meant,
understood his silences
and cherished his laughter.
I still hear him, you know, when
the wind whispers or the stillness
of remembrance closes in
or when doubt haunts my footsteps.
'Get on with it, Chloe!'
and I do, with a smile,
because no matter where I am
or what journeys I take, no matter
who I may meet along the way,
in my heart I will always be
that quirky Cleo,
a mere slip of a Midwesterner's tongue...
the perfectly imperfect diva
he called Chloe.
© mdbadgerow 2006
Rev. 2008
© 2008 Myrna D.
(All rights reserved)
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