To Love and Be Loved ~ Part 3

To Love and Be Loved ~ Part 3

Janelle Spiers

And now introducing, Part 3 of To Love and Be Loved... A free verse story about the Roaring Twenties...

Evelyn O’Hara

Growing

John holds tight, close to my heart.

I rub his skinny back, comb his dark

hair.  His breathing slows with sleep.

I do not cough on this perfect night.

I listen to the slow rhythm of my child,

wrapped tight in my arms, growing too thin.

Marjorie J. Riley

Indifference Is Cold

I glide down the long stairs, my guests

turn and gawk.  Music plays and drinks are

served. My hand touches the rail. I search for

Will, but                      he does not care.

Danny                         does.  I do not like

Danny, he                   is a fool.  A fool

who wants my money.  I take one last look

at Will, before Danny takes my hand.  I do

not want to dance with Danny, I want Will.

Evelyn O’Hara

Lies

“Mamma, see what I’ve made you!”

John places a tangled wad of yarn in my hand.

“Itsa scarf, to keep you warm,” he smiles.

            Cough,

            Cough,

            Cough,

Worry steals my child’s smile. He frowns.

“Whas wrong, Mamma?” “Nothing, Johnny,

Mamma’s fine.”  I wish I could tell the truth.

Marjorie J. Riley

A Sad Smile

I smooth down the rich fabric on my dress.

I stroke the feathers in my hair, preening like a

bird.  I twist my dark locks in my fingers,

preparing for another dance.  I look

at Papa’s                                 picture on my

shelf.  His                                smile is sad.

Is father                                   disappointed

with me?                                 I know that

this is a foolish idea, that picture was taken

before I was born.  But I still wonder when I

come home early in the morning, was this

what he wanted his little girl to look like?

The Music Plays Louder

I hold Will’s hand as we step in time. 

His mind is somewhere else, anywhere but

here, with me.                         “Will, why

don’t you talk?                       You are so

dull.”  His eyes                       meet mine.

“The music is too loud for talking,” he says. 

Brown eyes are gone once more.

Evelyn O’Hara

Burdened

I see a young child begging for food

on the street corner.  How can I pass him

by?  If it were my own son, I would feed him.

            Cough,

            Cough,

            Cough,

It is not my own cough that echoes in the streets, 

but the boy’s.  I hand him my bread. 

His smile fills my soul and hunger is gone.

Marjorie J. Riley

The Less Fortunate

Papa always said to help those less fortunate.

I disagree, but do it anyway.  As my car rolls

past the grubby faces, the crippled legs, I give

them                                        a coin or two,

but is                                       this really what

Papa                                        had in mind? 

How                                        will this fill the

hole I am feeling in my heart.  Something is

wrong. I have everything I have ever wanted,

so why do I feel like I have nothing but want?