girls didn’t leave home until the wedding in those days,
still, Esther was bound for the city
watching the darkness gather outside the window,
her body relaxing as the train sped along,
the droning of the wheels lulling her,
she grasped the last bit of light ringing the horizon,
plucking an invisible flow of memories
streaming across her awareness, one by one,
she made a list – a gutsy plan,
not at all her usual routine.
she saw it as her only way out,
wondering, would her father see it her way ?
when she entered the hospital
walking under the old fashioned door frame,
Esther felt safe,
courting bravery until it became second nature,
her only wages were the tricks she gleaned
and the support she sought while she learned her art,
never mind failure, she threw all-night parties cramming
chemistry, anatomy, physiology, biology, psychology
and all those other ‘ologies into her mind
and her heart, bitten by this virus,
and smitten by a strange desire to comfort.
much later, she wrapped herself in white
and fell in with a band of Nightingales.
©Wabi Sabi 2014
More Esther poems here and here
Sunday Whirl – # 147, #148
Poets United – Pantry
Esther dreams of a period filled
with gauzy comings and goings,
she has a vision of two little girls,
how many years ago?
pajama clad ,nestled on the floor
the tv tuned to jackie gleason,
some kind of tribute show.
one sister has to leave
going by subtle degrees,
creeping away like a hermit crab
crashing into another world
leaving behind an empty shell,
and her only sister.
no one had the power
to persuade her to stay,
not Esther, not anyone,
and before she leaves,
she carefully opens up
a hungry space in Esther’s heart.
For The Sunday Whirl ‘#122’
For Poets United ‘ Pantry’
It was just like him to send a note,
‘meet me at the stone slab,’
the place up in the woods where they first met
as teenagers hiding from life, smoking and acting cool,
but that was before they hatched their dream,
to save for an old car then take to the road
to look for the real world, whatever that was,
‘I came to say good-bye,’ he said,
his timing left Esther without breath,
how could he drop the torch now,
after months of planning,
their vision still blazing in her head,
too hot to touch,
how could he decide on a different path
out of this God-forsaken town,
one that left her behind, to hover in a holding pattern
stuck at the five and dime?
He cut her down with one bleak word,
Turns out she had the bus fare
so she jumped the Greyhound early the next day,
and in the crush of passengers, in the smell of humanity,
among folks with brown bags filled with egg sandwiches
and leftover meatloaf,
and snacks for the long ride,
she was on her way to somewhere.
©Wabi Sabi 2013
For Sunday Whirl ‘ slab, timing, breath, torch, vision, blazing, touch, cut, opaque, bleak, crush, nebulous, hover