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Mary



Mary's sleepy face is brushed
by the cool morning breeze
coming from her bedrom window.
Her white hair askew,
She straightens her nightgown.
Her slippered feet
shuffle down the hall
toward the coffee pot.

Sheer white curtains sway.
A stream of light slips through
like a ghostly slide
throwing a patch of sun
upon the golden oak floor.
Tabby arches, stretching,
drops with a thump
from the wooden sill.
Mary opens the door
with a push of her foot,
scoots him out,
letting the screen door slap shut.

She sees Bill's old car,
leaving a dusty cloud
as he slowly approaches.
Rusted 54 Chevy truck sits;
stubborn, she tells him,
ď No one but Jim drove that truck! Ē
His brother's outstretched hand
holds a little cash.
ďAnd no one else will!
Move on, and donít come back.Ē
Mary closes the door
a shy too hard.

Tabby leaps through the open window;
Mary sits in her chair.
Now in her lap
she strokes him gently,
a few hairs float in the sunlight.
On the stand beside her,
under the ginger jar lamp,
a framed photo.
She remembers that day,
Jimís big hands around her waist,
lifting her to sit on the gate...

"No one but Jim drove that truck," Mary mumbles.


------
"If you have the chance to sit it out or dance, I just say Dance." writen by Mark Sanders recorded by LeeAnn Womack


http://www.artspoetry.com
http://booksbybeverlyjraffaele.com


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by BevRaffaele





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