Letters

The other girl went with the first girl’s friend.

The first girl thought, “Really, the end

Of that boy is no loss.” But somehow their going

Was sad for her, especially their crowing

High glee.

The second boy stood at the foot of the stair,

Looked confident up. “Have me if you dare.”

With a feeling of hesitance though outward no trace

She invited that boy into her place

To see

As he passed on the landing

Where she was standing

She felt a moment that she

Was taller than he.

“Look out the window all around

There at my plot of ground.

See how it shows fertile and rich

Allow in the day’s first light.”

The joy died dead as he searched the spot

Looked at the bare cold lot,

Saw the growth crammed in a ditch

Saw barren what had been so bright.

“Here’s my house, very modern in taste.

Look slowly. Don’t be in haste.

We have a good view from our window niche

I’ve waited a long, long night.”

The jaunty colors faded to musk.

The room looked empty by dusk.

The cold void gaped to pitch

Her down from her dizzy height.

She saw clearly

Had not been meant to be

For a youth such as he.

His body resisted her urgent implore

As she drove him to the side door

Shoved him outside and turned to lock

Against his protesting back.

Grief struck, she turned to look alone

At the wreck of her private home.

But her instrument loved. She saw him take it

For the boy had a key and had returned to break it.

The loved warm curves of her violin

He broke jagged in two

The A and the G strings hung ragged and loose

While grief struck her soul strummed a sigh of pain.

She stood stunned, shook her head

Engulfed by tides of furious red

“Help, help” she sounded, then leaped and ran

Down the stairs and after that man.

“Help, help, help, help,” she cried in anguish.

At the foot of the side door’s stair

“Help, help, help, help, come help me care.”

As she fell to the ground unconscious.

All the neighbors came to see

The girl as she lay at their feet.

All of them thought she had been attacked

None of them knew the real fact

For a thin white layer of covering snow

Had fallen on the violin’s glow

Had hidden its wreck from everyone’s view

So no one would ever know

And though outward she gave no sign,

That girl was sick for a long, long time.

Betty Brown

East Setauket

Brown, age 92, is a member of the Poets Rising group that meets monthly at the Hampton Bays Library — Ed.