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Contests : Margaret Reid Poetry Contest : Past Winners : 2009 : Third Prize
MISS WORTHINGTON
I saw her one last time.
Erect and hating her condition
she rolled her chair a little closer
to the windows of her winter garden:
"The elms will have to go, you know.
The elms are sick...
"I climbed them as a child."
There was that catch of hidden sadness.
Her voice had lost its edge.
Miss Worthington had stayed alone
from choice. She'd had her lovers.
The spinster word was not for her,
a vibrant beauty once, and weathered now
to autumn's gold and shorter days.
And in that instant, when I looked at her,
I knew that winter's crystal hands
had reached for her and brittled her resolve.
"It's time," she said.
Perhaps she meant the elms.
Then she leaned back
and closed her eyes.
"It was just yesterday when I was young.
And suddenly
I'm being called to give account.
"Oh yes... I know.
"I asked a guru once—
somewhere in India:
'What's life, dear master?'
'A terminal disease,' he said.
"One day, I thought, I will be wise.
We shall have time—tomorrow.
First let us conquer, change the world.
Let's catch the firebird
and torch old customs, thoughts,
moralities from yesteryear.
"But what is wisdom? Am I wise?
All I've learned is: time cannot be saved.
The time you do not use is lost.
There is no piggy bank in which
you later find those days you wasted
while 'saving time'.
And while I lived my life in haste,
it passed me by.
"The elms will die..."
Her voice trailed off.
She followed some internal discourse
from which I was excluded.
I waited quietly and was at peace.
Her triffid garden filtered light and sound,
some wild exotic green caressed her lovingly.
My dear Miss Worthington,
you were my teacher and my friend.
Because of you my mind took wings
and you it was who taught me courage.
You are the wisest of the wise
and your accounting will suffice.
Her voice came back,
her eyes stayed closed.
"They fuss so, don't you know?"
A fly, emboldened,
settled on her cheek.
When no hand waved it off
I knew.
I did not move.
Her eyes stayed closed.
A smile had woven
sunlight in her face.
A sudden ray of brightness
touched her silver hair.
Oh ...
This poem won third prize in the 2009 Margaret Reid Poetry Contest sponsored by Tom Howard Books. Author Rosmarie Epaminondas-Böhm received a $500 award. Winning Writers assists this contest. Copyright is reserved to the author.
About Rosmarie Epaminondas-Böhm
From starting my professional life as a cub reporter, travelling extensively and learning five languages, I graduated to psychiatrist, nurse, rocket scientist and cleaning lady in my first marriage, which produced two wonderful kids. In London I worked amongst other things as a freelance journalist for a German film trade paper and with Stanley Kubrick as a reader. After an MBA and an extensive career in the corporate world, I am now a freelance copywriter (www.thewordpeople.com), marketing consultant and ideas person (more info at: www.linkedin.com/in/rosmarieepaminondas). I am a rather good photographer. My first novel is about to be published in the UK. I recently moved to Lima, Peru, with my second husband. Here I'll enjoy the slower pace of life which will allow me more time for writing poetry and prose.
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