gilded age
She knows instinctually that parquet floors
spread across wide open rooms
are for twirling.
A hot pink flower; she blooms
as she spins and skips amidst
bygone opulence;
Presses fingerprints on polished surfaces
and pockets bits of quartz
she discovers in the rose garden gravel.
She makes herself at home in the museum,
her small hands sieving aged lace to peep out
at would-be fellow guests.