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. 🙂
Standing in the washroom, she hears
a young woman’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. She’s slowly cracking
breaking apart. She lifts her arms high overhead.
Her cotton nightgown once white now dingy
raises above her knees. She hasn’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 – John Wanamaker.
But her hands float beneath the water’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.]