Doris' DaughterA Poem by Ken e BujoldDoris’s daughter was an unhappy
mate. Last night loose winds, rain, heavy black curlers
rolled up and over the eiderdown dunes,
all along our bare back coast in search of a
dallying husband. Fortunately, forewarned, we’d managed
to batten the hatches, lay in enough of
the devil’s courage to see us through the worst of the
unhinging rampage, thankful for having kept to our
knitting, mindful of the obligation to lie and
sleep within the confines of our own widow maker’s conjugal
web. This morning, exhausted and denuded
of all my poorly remembered prayers,
I woke to the revivified light of a
chastened sun and rejoined the browbeaten congregation
tasked with salvaging those wayward
ships caught unaware, dim-witted to
the danger of a tempestuous nor’easter’s
fury for the fickle nature of a man’s
appetite to linger in places he has no reason
or purpose for being, other than the
boy’s urge. Looking up, I spotted a circling
erne, read in its recognition of our
pitiful plight, the harsh truth about love. For better
or worse, these hills we’ve harnessed,
drawn water from to seed our life’s acres, is
where we’ll lie and lay long after the dust of this
turbulent night’s seethe has settled. Unlike the Gods, it seems, men
have no grant of liberty against the rage of a
jealous wife’s green-eyed rant. Though truth be told, best mates
need none,
save the occasional wreck of a
bruised ship smoking in the harbor. Ken e Bujold © 2024 Ken e BujoldReviews
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2 Reviews Added on September 17, 2024 Last Updated on September 22, 2024 Previous Versions AuthorKen e BujoldSomewhere in Ontario, CanadaAboutWriters write, it's what we do. Fish swim, woodpeckers peck... writers scribble (inside and outside the lines). more..Writing
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