Spinning Like a Dervish. Turn. Turn. Turn

Not too long ago, I started working on a poem I had tentatively titled (in my head) “The Glass Lady.” It’s not quite finished, but the journey has surprised me.

I wasn’t sure who the glass lady was, but I knew she had to be described with adjectives and verbs typically associated with glass.

So, here are the first 4 stanzas of “The Glass Lady”… It isn’t finished, but I’m definitely curious to see how it ends. ๐Ÿ™‚

Sheโ€™s broken.

Standing in the washroom, she hears

a young womanโ€™s voice behind her.

She turns. Looks. Who is this person?

Whose eyes are these looking back at her?

Perhaps this is her younger self.

 

Time for a bath Mimo, the young stranger repeats.

But the glass lady has splintered. Sheโ€™s slowly cracking

breaking apart. She lifts her arms high overhead.

Her cotton nightgown once white now dingy

raises above her knees. She hasnโ€™t washed

for day. Weeks.

 

Once solid, her boundaries have become

amorphous. Again. The glass lady

is transparent. Weak. Crumbling.

So the strange woman removes her soiled

gown and underclothes. Draws a warm bath,

and eases the glass lady into the tub.

 

When did the fissures surface? How had the family

missed the change? it? Perhaps she had been strong for too long.

Perhaps she had forgotten to cry. It is too late.

The glass lady looks at the white wash cloth,

the pastel blue bar of soap โ€“ John Wanamaker.

But her hands float beneath the waterโ€™s surface. Motionless.

[In response to the Daily Prompt: Volunteer …because writing is totally voluntary. The feelings, the words reach the writer, and we can’t help but answer the call to compose, to create. With no promise of compensation – except the satisfaction of a well-crafted story.]

 

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7 thoughts on “Spinning Like a Dervish. Turn. Turn. Turn

  1. This was so sad. Makes me think of the future and how any of us could end up like this. You said there’s more to come and I’m intrigued where it will go. Is the younger woman her daughter, carer or the reason why she’s in this situation? Are those cracks in her imagination or are they bed sores or something more sinister? Please keep us updated ๐Ÿ™‚ Love how you say we answer the call to compose and how you’re curious to see how it ends. That’s how I feel now. My writing often takes on a life of its own; in a different direction to what I planned.

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    • Thank you for sharing your thoughts! These are also all great questions that I am not sure will ever be fully answered. My paternal grandmother and several of her brothers and sisters developed Alzheimer’s/dementia, so it is definitely something I’ve thought about before this poem. But I am glad that writing thought resonated. For me, it also takes a the weight off when I do write because if it isn’t the greatest piece of writing, I can just say the signal didn’t come through so strong. ๐Ÿ™‚

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  2. the image you are developing of a “glass lady” is really compelling to me.

    as an aside, for “volunteer” it occurred to me how the bathroom mirror “volunteers” information I don’t really want to know. ๐Ÿ™‚ I mention this only because it’s (very distantly) related to what you are working on, a kind of coincidence

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    • Thank you for sharing your thoughts and this idea about the mirror volunteering information to us. I can totally relate to not wanting some of the information my mirror volunteers to me. That concept just might end up in the poem. ๐Ÿ™‚

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