Secrets

she didn't conform to the specifications of the town's genteel womanhood

quirky with a glint of the rebel

and a sophisticated je nes se quoi

she could be seen throwing a football

with the neighborhood kids

conduct a rousing debate with staid bureaucrats

or dance a wild flamenco

at neighborhood celebrations

there was a touch of mystery

to her hazel eyes

the red flowers in the wildly spiraled Afro

peasant blouses and hand painted skirts

suggested a panache for life

we mere mortals, were bemused

at a woman of such strange juxtapositions

in this small rural town

as a child

watching her hands as they danced in the air

punctuating her remarks

they told me tales, conveyed emotions

without those appendages

she would have been rendered partially

mute

she carried a tattered notebook and a yellow Bic pen

with a nibbled end

and was seen scribbling

in the grocery stores, as she waited in lines

between the loads of laundry, late at night

as we slept

conversations often were abruptly stopped mid-stream

momentarily

with one up regal upraised finger

hurriedly writing a word, a phrase, a line

less she forget the inspired thought

and then with a fey smile

would resume her narrative

we always suspected she was writing

pithy, profound essays

long philosophical dissertations,

perhaps even the occasional grocery list

when she died

I discovered boxes and boxes

of notebooks

marvelously written poems

dreams, hopes and fears for her children

passion felt for her lover

a deep sorrow at injustice

secret thoughts of a woman

we never knew

I grieved again

Note: Originally published Aug 2007 by Hood Press