The Silver Locket

She wore a silver locket every day
Evelyn the milliner’s daughter.
After we shopped for fabric at the General.
we often went next door
to look at hats and the milliner’s daughter.

A simple dress was what she wore–
quite plain, yet elegantly sewn.
She twisted and rolled her shiny brown hair,
and a special air enveloped the girl
whose engraved silver locket danced
and swirled on a sterling chain.

Everyone remarked that the milliner’s daughter,
never wore her mother’s hats;
adorned only by that rich brown hair
and her secret silver locket.

The milliner’s shop became a legacy
to our town. We, who’d worn those fashioned
for Easter, weddings, and all life’s
celebrations, were amazed
when her creations were shown far and wide;
prized by wealthy matrons all over the state.

Life and styles slowly changed;
hats and milliners faded from fashion.
After they moved, John at the General got mail
from Evelyn for a while

She lived in Paris,
she knew Braque
Fitzgerald,
Picasso,
Hemingway,
who molded her into their art.
Each enchanted by her,
and the mysterious silver locket.

© Gay Reiser Cannon * All Rights Reserved

 

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High Plains

My photo somewhere east of Amarillo

a yellowed parchment stretches
endless, seamless, vast — covering all
until it meets the soft blue-white batiste sky

that lies beyond it, trembling at its edge
distance without depth
arcing over, filling spaces

upon it chords of history written–
a kind of hieroglyphics, not of papyrus
less socialized, more tribal

a series of bumps and lines, geometries
that sing of falling stones, eroding mountains
of time and and endless passage

bison cows horses cowboys he(a)rd there
carved in cactus shapes, shimmering mirages
crusted for centuries; time-foot-hoof-pounded flat

sculpted fata morgana motifs of destiny
inscrutable from such distances
people of the land, one with it, crushed

to this quivering yellowness, this opus
of fullness and emptiness in horizontals
the air resonates and the pulse beats

percussive anthems against me
I am lifted on a singing thermal
and a great dusty symphony plays

© Gay Reiser Cannon 6.11.2012 * All Rights Reserved
Posted for OpenLinkNight @dVersePoets Pub
6/12/2012 where today’s landlady is the Hedgewitch herself!