The Bitterroot PondA Poem by Penelope Allen
Reworked poem from too long ago
A wisp of a specter is smoldering
in ghastly depths of the Bitterroot pond.
For forty years, she’s been shouldering
chafing chains of an unbreakable bond.
Slick green frogs and snakes slither.
Death rattles as she’s wringing her withers.
Weaving through weeds and bulrushes
twilight’s creeping in whispers and hushes.
There’s an old hag who’s coming to call
with scraggy hair, in a grey flannel gown.
Yea verily, she was once the belle of the ball.
Gliding sprightly as eider down.
Shuffling her way, to the everglade’s edge,
she reclines, by the brink of the pool.
The ghost slinks through the marshy sedge,
slipping closer to the essence of cruel.
The spirit glares up at the wizened face.
as her dynamic force gathers pace.
The nymph bursts from the scummy bog.
the woman’s mouth gasps to gaping agog.
She’s yanked into stagnant black water.
and drowned by her long ago daughter.
Staunched tears from a wily weeper.
She drags her mother still deeper
anchoring her to a cypress root.
She’s now the underpinned brute.
Shackled with decades of chains.
and drowned by her ‘ill gotten gains’.
Yes, it took more toil, than the wave of a wand,
but she’s forever free of the Bitterroot Pond.
© 2009 Penelope Allen
Added on February 9, 2009
AboutI'm an internationally published poet who's finally taken the plunge into publishing my collection of connected villanelles. It took years of people urging me to do so but I felt I needed a theme. .. more..