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(911)
An old woman hidden in a shawl
whose
colors match the colors woven
in the Bible's
Joseph coat, a slow and
elder witch, some say; thank the Lord
she's never
visited OUR house; I'd
worry I might wake a frog or
even
something worse, a camel with one
hump or two. At
poolside parties,
you may depend on it, there's always
someone has to
say. (The 'humps' are
mentioned at each ladies'
afternoon
regarding sugar for their
tea.
O, thank you, none for me.)
A
horrid thing; a site to see; imagine
how they live, just think; they
stink.
A woman whose skin's grown hard
and
thin as a weathered leather thong,
my daughter
likes to say. What does
she ever do? How many
years
has the witch come
uninvited
into our garden soon as sunrise hits
to
spread her mat, bow toward
East, and
chant gibberish.
I won't go out if first I see her there.
Some summers
pass so I've no tan at all.
She brings the news to our front door,
Mother remarks.
Oh, yes, she brings
the news, I think aloud.
Each
morning when blooms are fresh,
the wife insists, she cuts
a few
then leaves them in a glass beside
my door. It's
only that… Harmless,
says the wife. I'm worried just a
bit….
She feeds the pond fish; picks leaves up
fallen on our lawn;
it's little acts of
kindness in return that we
receive.
But…. No 'but' from you: when
last was
your Gazette all wet, its ink
run like negatives of lightning bolts.
And
all those mornings with your
coffee fresh, black, and
thick,
a blossom scent fragranced our breakfast
nook when you would say,
'what perfume
is that.' So many mornings
afterward,
we'd share 'helloes' again. A wink.
Well,
sure, I must admit.
She's
ancient;
and, she hardly is a crook.
But might our neighbors say you're one
of them, or say
such a thing of me?
Then what? It's not her
fault.
And THAT, my missus said,
is
quite an end to that.
There's someone at the door… My
god,
now what's THIS all
about?
The swarthy,
white-haired,
little guy who drives that clunk to work
is just outside
our door.
A social visit from the strangest
stranger in
the neighborhood. I know I'm
not putting up with wringing
hands
or stepping in if our neighbors try
to force them
out. Now what's HE want?
'Her son, grandmother to my children's
sons; She says she
will not come to pray
until I beg forgiveness from your house.'
Then let
her come;
there's nothing to
forgive,
and nothing you need ask.
