Saturday, July 31, 2010

Justin Norton. Tempe, AZ


  1. Outside the glassless window a huge oak with hanging moss and broken branches stood still majestically like a rebel sentinel standing at attention, saluting with honor General Lee. Nancy and her friend Deedee walked along the near-empty corridor, the heels echoing like tap dancers at the Southern Belle Ballroom. Sparrows and butterflies flew in and out, part of the old home's front facade missing from battles and time. In one of the upstaits rooms of broken plaster amd torn wallpaper, the hardwood floor cracked and decayed another large portrait still hung precariously on a wall: the beautiful woman elegantly dressed in high fashion of the 1920s looking like a postcard for Chanel or Schiaparelli. Her raven black hair in waves like the night sea softly, barely touching her pale, slender shoulders. "What happened to her, Nancy? Wasn't she a famous film star?"
    "I read in some obscure newspaper revue that her lover was killed during World War I over in France. She was a nurse and was shelled as she was aiding a wounded soldier. She died instantly, horribly. The lady in the portrait never recovered her loss, left this place with nothing but her handbag, took a steamer to France, and disappeared."
    Nancy and Deedee walked on, their high heels echoing in a rhytmn synchronized but somehow sad.

  2. And you are very welcome, Nettie. I apologize for my misspelled words and typos in it. I was typing way too fast and didn't edit. You are a beautiful inspiration for such an unworthy poet as me. Thanks.