|"Glycine (Wisteria), Châtillon," vintage albumen print, by Eugène Atget|
Fear, ridicule and pity ooze her way
from stranger-neighbors thick with family:
In another age, she would be branded
witch as outsider, spinster and midwife.
But here they leave her alone, only skirt
her house on Halloween, pass by ducking
to avoid wisteria vines dangling
beyond their bounds of invisible fence.
Safety, then, to stay on Main Street rather
than vulnerable to back-street attack.
Safety to be a story told by wise
whispering children to hushed visitors.
She, cushioned by silence, doesn’t know she
is muse to hopeful writers and artists—
Nor do they know she composes music
to their tiptoeing, chirping and warbling.
Inspired by Corey's I don't know what to think....really
at Imaginary Garden with Real Toads.
Also posted at Poets United Poetry Pantry #230
Copyright © 2014 S.L.Chast