This is my 150-word submission to What Pegman Saw on Saturday in Christchurch, New Zealand.
Ah
The memories you have of that boathouse
When you were
Seventeen-years-old
Blonde
Blue-eyed
Angelic, some said
A demon, a vixen, a harlot
A saint
A savior
The Madonna herself
Names did not concern you
You expected
You waited
Watched
Worried
and hoped
Time was not on your side
You had all the time in the world
Shadows were your friends
and counted among your enemies
Darkness hindered
Darkness helped – when candles were involved
Rarely
They came to you in droves
One at a time
or as couples with children
and without
Some cried when they saw you
A few laughed in panic
and surprise
They mouthed
Help us!
Save us!
Thank you!
Here! Take this!
You did not accept money
Kisses
or hugs
Merely shoved them into
canoes
drift boats
scows
Whispering
Not now
Be silent
Go! Go! Go!
How many did you save?
Ask them
You never counted
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Love this. One of my favorite authors writes of a ship’s captain who often dives over the side to save the various people who are in danger of drowning. He makes little of it, but it’s a charming thing about the character.
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Thank you. I often think that those who help people, from the bottom of their hearts, need no thanks at all.
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Compelling. Who is she?
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No one in particular. I made her up. Thanks for reading!
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Oh, you can’t let it go at that. What gives a teenage girl that much power?
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Kindness. Hope. A good heart! The will to live and let live?
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Intriguing character sketch done in such a haunting voice. Each time I thought I had her, she slipped out of my hands.
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When I started, “she” was a prostitute, then morphed into someone who was helping people escape from . . . ?
It’s truly amazing what our muse does to us. Thanks for your help getting this posted.
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Dear Lish,
Lovely how you can put verses together so effortlessly. wonderful.
Shalom,
Rochelle
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What a wonderful thing to say. Cheers! And a happy Saturday to you.
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