If It Ever Happened At AllA Poem by Linda Marie Van TassellThe sun also sets. ~ Ernest HemingwayHe slipped through the gate unnoticed with a smile and his hat in hand. She was firm and fairly focused, failed to notice his golden band. He cleared his throat before he spoke, “Excuse me for disturbing you.” The breeze carried tobacco smoke and the smell of his fragrance too. She shifted her eyes from the page, moved them slowly to meet his gaze. A bird fluttered within its cage. The world stood still, set fire, ablaze. She felt immediate shyness. Her face flushed like a blushing rose. She lowered her eyes to hide this, staring at the hem of her clothes. He stood there in a shaft of light, something beautiful and unknown. “I’m looking for Mr. Goodwright.” She pointed to the old brownstone. He thanked her and then turned to leave, placing his hat upon his head. A gentle breeze blew up her sleeve. She licked her lips of cherry red. He walked with confidence and poise, his eyes the most tremendous blue. She felt waves of infinite joys and dreamed a life of tea for two. Dumbstruck by her reticent tongue, she was kicking herself inside. The air escaped each swelling lung. She hung her head and almost cried. How to explain this instant bliss, the tides of sweeping emotion, the way that her soul sought his kiss? A most incredulous notion! She felt foolish beyond compare like a schoolgirl with her first crush. In an instant, her heart laid bare ready to fall in such a rush. She watched him walk out of her life with a sense of portent and dread. The pain, the grief, the bitter strife formed a sea of clouds overhead. The darkness thundered into night. She was touched by a secret flame. The rain soaked through her gown of white. She did not even know his name. The sun cast fire across the sky. Eliza watched it from her bed. She closed her eyes, released a sigh, threw back the needlepoint bedspread. She set her feet upon the floor, gathered her senses and her strength, tied the strings of her pinafore, pulled back her hair and pinned its length. She pinched her cheeks for a pink hue. The scarlet flush began to rise. For a moment, the briefest dew gathered as teardrops in her eyes. She stared at her pale reflection. A ghost looked back for her to see. She was starved of sweet affection. She wanted to love and to be. She drifted out of reverie when a knock came upon the door. He said, “I am Mr. Every.” She said, “I am Eliza Moore.” She offered him afternoon tea with roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. She was struck and could not foresee this would be her great unhooding. He was cunning and full of smiles, made her promises meant to break. He had traveled for miles and miles like a slithering rattlesnake. He was a black cloud in her life, but she was blind and could not see; and he never mentioned the wife nor his children numbering three. Eliza fell head over heels. He could be so sweet and gentle. The devil’s tongue forever steals the dreams of the sentimental. He promised her he’d leave his wife, that he would come on Christmas day and make her his for all his life; and they would love the world away. Her ballgown was a velvet red with lace at the collar and sleeves. She wore a crown upon her head made of white pearls and diamond leaves. She was happy and smiled all night. She had a secret gift to share. The two of them would soon unite like roses braided in her hair. Someone engaged the brass doorbell. She ran to open the front door. She stood in silence for a spell then returned to the second floor. She held the letter in her hand, felt broken with anger and strife. “My dear, I hope you understand. I cannot leave my kids and wife.” Eliza felt hurt and betrayed, and the ink blurred beneath her tears. She made a rope of her long braid and let it hang behind her ears. She placed the chair beneath the beam and kicked it back against the wall. Her life was but a shattered dream, if it ever happened at all. Her parents found her in the morn. A furrow lined her slender throat. A hanging rose beside a thorn, the shredded heartbreak of his note. The windows closed, the clocks were stopped, the mirrors were covered with black. Candles melted; the roses dropped. Nothing could ever bring her back. © 2023 Linda Marie Van TassellAuthor's NoteReviews
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6 Reviews Added on April 16, 2023 Last Updated on April 16, 2023 Tags: If It Ever Happened At All, Linda Marie Van Tassell, Affair, Broken Promises, Death, Ashes, End AuthorLinda Marie Van TassellVAAboutPoetry has been my passion since I was about fifteen years old, and I love the structure of rhyme and meter moreso than just randomly throwing words upon a page without any form whatsoever. Whi.. more..Writing
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