the birds, the humans

the birds showed off in warbles

of approval and distaste;

to mate or not to mate?

the humans grew weary of love games,

energies gone to hurried waste;

they halted and left it up to fate.

04.2010

Evelyn

only faded frame and sepia tones

could keep Evelyn at bay;

she was vivacious:

her spirit needed to soar

over all the petty people

in their pretentious poses.

in her own,

she should appear to her descendants as

nothing less than

grand.

they will so cleverly discern that

this is the woman

whose voyage to the States

from Lausanne

she'd documented fervently

in the galloping French of her homeland;

each day she wrote,

no matter how distasteful, rude

the 'dirty' Italians were

or how poorly the beer

matched that of Europe --

the curse of a cruise ship's offering.

the stateliness of set shoulders,

the beadiness of darkened eyes

would speak of her will to live

while others fell to plagues

they were doomed to contract,

unable to dispel contaminated blood

even for their lifelines:

Evelyn's story had not yet been told.

she would not depart

until she was sure

she would be remembered,

and most accurately at that.

her portrait could not betray her

a century and a half later:

severe features in face had been softened

by love's unassuming touch;

the journey from Switzerland

had been more than stake for opportunity --

it had been her fortuitous fate.

hair gathered neatly under full-brimmed hat,

hands folded and positioned squarely

on her lap, pressed to perfection,

she was clearly faithful

not only as eager wife

but also as ardent mother

and most importantly

as a lady who'd created this life

for herself.

she would be thought admirable.

she would be thought persistent.

and should the muted tones of her dress,

the impenetrable high-collared blouses

or the sheer absence of force-fed grin

prove otherwise,

then you have not taken measure

to properly know her

at all.

04.2010