The Widow Next Door
By Silver Spun Sand
Tue, 26 Apr 2011
- 3189 reads
18 comments
This week, I’m reading her
Jane Eyre. Each day at three
she greets me from her chair;
can’t see too well – dexterity
not what it was.
Her old, marmalade tom
sinks deep into her lap,
as morning-glory spills,
purple over the windows
into late afternoon.
She tells me it’s time to go;
hunts in a drawer – shows
me a photo of a slip of a girl
in a starry hawthorn’s shade...
a mist of blossom, settles
on her arm like a whisper.
I squeeze her hand – tell her
she looked lovely, then and now.
Her late husband, she says,
is waiting by the door...
and I believe her.
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Comments
A stunning poem, Tina. I've
Permalink Submitted by MistakenMagic on
A stunning poem, Tina. I've just been to visit my 95 year old great grandmother, and this poem so reminded me of her! Y'know I'm off back to Durham tomorrow and her advice was "Work hard and play hard!" Wonderful woman - and this is a wonderful piece. Well done :)
Magic xxx
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A very beautiful one. Yes,
A very beautiful one. Yes, probably much better to believe these things. Wisdom and understanding come in many disguises.
Rob
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Really lovely Tina. Well
Permalink Submitted by Overthetop1 on
Really lovely Tina. Well deserved cherry.
Overthetop1
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I have run out of
I have run out of superlatives....`lovely' sounds tame but that's what it is.
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Would have to agree with all
Would have to agree with all that the others have said - a very enjoyable read.
:--) xxx
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This is a poem that, in the
This is a poem that, in the true spirit of synergy, adds up to far more than the sum of its unremarkable parts. The imagery is deft and unobtrusive. Hawthorne - as in the Scarlet Letter - said words on a page should resemble a pane of glass that the reader peers through in order to take in what's on the far side. The author polishes and polish and polish the window meticulously so no one really sees it. All they really grasp is 'The Widow Next Door'.
I love this poem. And it's not coy. It's not cutesy. Its says far more than fours-stanza's-worth of descriptive narrative about a woman at the end of her life. This is a perfectly realized poem about common decency and the human condition. Not because I say so but because it simply is.
P.S. I also am rather biassed in favor of Charlotte Bronte. Several of her lesser-known works may actually be better than Jane Eyre, but not everyone would necessarily agree. One such - I think it was called the Professor - was rejected by every publisher and, even after she was quite famous, got rejected right up to her death. The book is far and away one of Bronte's finest works, which only appeared posthumously. Go figure it!
barryj1
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Hi Tina, another wonderful
Permalink Submitted by skinner_jennifer on
Hi Tina,
another wonderful poem from you.
Jenny.
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