The Medallion
The mystery may be better
than truth. Her lips wore
the zig-zag stitches, secrets
untold. Wednesday nights
she took a eerie bronzen medallion
from a brushed velvet box
hung it about her neck and left
for a weekly women's social.
Butter and cucumber sandwiches,
crumpets, Egyptian Licorice Tea,
Moroccan Orange Spice,
and Redbush Chai.
Those Wednesday nights
belonged to her alone.
Dad never questioned
but we talked. We wondered
if they met to sharpen their knives
over shared husband stories
or maybe their bonds
were physical - touching on
what was then taboo to speak.
©2010 – Michael A. Wells – all rights reserved
9 comments:
Woman do have their secrets. Your poem brings so many images to my mind as well as tastes.
This is good! It's implications are cleverly kept below the surface of the words.
(Hope you don't mind my pointing out a typo in line 2? "Then" should surely be "Than")
Let the Fair Ladies have their moments, they deserve it. You did well to capture those moments in your poem. Great!
I want to be part of this group ... next Wednesday? Nicely done!
Now that's an interesting read and leaves one wondering.......
oh, the sordid implications! love it
it is delightful to get together and sharpen our blades... love the atmosphere of this poem... cozy and warm... disturbing deuce
Excuse me, ladies only in the Long Bar.
Wednesday night coffee clutch... stories untold.
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