Willow asked me to put my Eavesdropping (from Catching Light) on the Magpie Tales link, so here goes. This poem got its start as I was leaving Red Lobster, but I up scaled the restaurant just a bit. The poems in this book are spoken in the voice of a woman named Evelyn, in her late seventies, and originated as a response to a series of photographs by Louanne Watley.
EAVESDROPPING
He was trembling so
and his lips were turning blue,
she speaks into the pay phone
as I pass, in search of the ladies'
room hidden somewhere
in the hotel bar's posh
outer dark. I can't stop
myself wondering what was he
to her and why was he
trembling, his blue lips about to say
something this woman, struggling
to make herself heard over
happy hour, might or
might not be about to confide
as I shove my way through
the inevitable end
of her story and into
the door labeled Mademoiselles,
where a plush carpet,
rococo mirror
atop a pink vanity,
welcome me.
I pull out my lipstick
and slowly apply it to top lip,
then bottom lip.
Look at my mouth in the mirror.
The color I like,
extra long lasting.
No smears.
My hand's steady.
Nothing about my hand trembles.
3 comments:
Thanks for posting this one, Kay! That brilliant last line has been playing in my head all week.
Amazing synchronicity jumped out and grabbed me, as I browsed your book. My mother-in-law, Evelyn, passed away last month, and I've been pondering life and death.
Wonderful poem, thoroughly enjoyed. Willow was right - it goes perfectly with the photo prompt.
Oh, yes! Perfect and powerful.
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