Mrs. Moan
Old wooden steps
creaked, a broken rocker
a fixture
on a rundown porch.
Soiled curtains blew free
from a window frame,
no screens to keep
insects out.
Odd, a mustard color light
with no shade
held giant webs
where spiders lived,
silver threads
stretched way above
a child’s head.
Children in the neighborhood
feared this woman,
Mrs. Moan. . .
who lived alone.
Hardships turned
her heart to stone.
When she smiled
she snickered. . .
in a sneaky way
yelling out,
"Won't you come and play?"
Death took her sunshine,
pride and joy
some fifty years ago.
Calling out for other children
playing in the street,
"I have some popcorn for
you to eat!"
Talking
to a memory
of what use to be,
before her daughter met
her grave, before she entered
the seventh grade.
Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved
No comments:
Post a Comment