Thank you for taking time to read the material posted here. I would be pleased if you could comment, and I promise to comment back. Sincerely, Nancy


Thursday, September 23, 2010


Mrs. Moan

Her wooden porch had
a strange creak as her
feet moved up and down
moving a rocker back
and forth with bare feet.

Back and forth, dressed
in white – she stared at
children in the neighborhood -
she seemed to smile
in a strange way – children
told - not to play near her
home, to keep away from
Mrs. Moan. . .

Soiled curtains blew free
from her open windows -
no screens to keep
insects out.

In daylight a mustard
color light without a
shade held giant spider
webs where spiders
weaved silver threads –
stretched high above a
child’s head.

Children in our
feared this woman,
Mrs. Moan -
who lived alone – told
her heart and mind
turned to stone.

When she smiled
she snickered -
in a sneaky way
yelling out to those
of us who passed her
porch -

"Won't you come and play?"

Death took her sunshine,
pride and joy
some fifty years ago – and
now – rocking back and
forth, she would hold
a bowl on her lap -
telling all the children
playing in the street -

"I have some popcorn for
you to eat."

And every day more
bowls were scattered on
her porch, each filled
with more popcorn –
soon covering her porch.

The little girls of the
neighborhood became
her memory of what use
to be – her daughter met
her death when crossing
the street, before the
seventh grade.

We took her flowers as
she smiled, we watched
her rock – back and forth,
and hid along the side of
her porch, listened as she
talked - but no one was

Ed Burns and his
record “Kookie” – I recall
her calling out to me –

“Kookie, Kookie, won’t
you come and play?

While mom she stood
at attention calling out
my name, “Cookie you
come home right this
minute..” she heard
Mrs. Moan’s song –
as it faded in the distance.

Mrs. Moan kept
singing – asking
me to play – until one
day she left her porch -
her rocker disappeared,
her popcorn and all her
bowls, and spider webs
dancing above her head
were swept away. . .

I knew that day, as I
walked past her home
Mrs. Moan
would never be on
her porch – calling out
my name – already I
missed Mrs. Moan.

I learned she found a
better home. . .

I prayed that night she
wouldn’t be alone.
The next day, I entered
the seventh grade.

Nancy Duci Denofio
all rights reserved

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