Photograph: Margaret Bednar
Miss Annabelle Lee
once lived here,
for a ten dollar tour
feet cross hardwood
to stare at what remains.
A painting of her hangs
above the mantle
in the sitting room,
barely noticed among teacup
and furniture descriptions.
Microphoned ears
listen to the history
of a piano sitting
against the wall,
not caring the keys
were once played
to comfort a mother
whose son had been
lost to war.
Annabelle’s poetry
sits on the bookshelf
of a small rosewood desk.
The passion in her verses
relinquished to faded ink
and minds caught up
in flashing digital abbreviations.
Her accomplishments
reached far beyond
a life measured
by possessions
and not breath.
Contemporary eyes
give it a nod, but
appear more awed
by the sunlit sparkle
reflected by polished brass.
©Susie Clevenger 2013
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