It’s been said for years,
before this was a park,
that red orbs would dance
tree to tree
where the magnolias now grow.
These orbs left the deep woods
and shadowed parked cars,
lights off—a known lover’s lane.
There were no other lights—
the orbs floated directly
windshields and peered in.
It’s been accepted that these orbs
were the ghosts of children
slaughtered by a local farmer
for trespassing his grounds.
Same grounds I now walk
filled with dandelions,
dotted by white clover,
Queen Anne’s lace
and purple thistle.
Morning Glory grew copiously
by man-made ponds
framing the turtle covered grates.
But the red orbs are gone.
And I must insist they were the tear-rimmed
eyes of Marie Hansell—first wife to George,
who died at 24 and he then married Marion.
How angry Marie must have been
to die young
and then be rapidly replaced.
Now they are all together in Mechanicsville
Cemetery, which backs onto the park.
Same park that opened two years
after Marion’s death at age 94.
Of course the red orbs, the red eyes
of Marie, then disappeared.
Eternally together
George lays between two women
perhaps in peace.
About the Author
Julie Standig writes her poems on trains, tow paths and preferably over a large cup of coffee. Author of two poetry books, The Forsaken Little Black Book, (Kelsay Books) which was nominated for an Eric Hoffer Award and a chapbook, Memsahib Memoirs (Plan B Press).
Her poems have appeared in Schuylkill Valley Journal, Gyroscope Review, One Art, New Verse News, Macqueens’ Quinterly, Rat’s Ass Review, Keystone Anthology, PA Bards Anthology and elsewhere. A life time New Yorker she now resides in Bucks County with her husband and their Springer Spaniel.
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