Mistress

I was alone (as usual)
Looking down at her
From the balcony of my stately manor.
The house didn't matter.
Neither did I.
He didn't love me.
Everything was for her.
I gazed upon her as she worked in the fields.
It was early, but already the heat of the sun glared down upon her.
I went to look at her every day
Hoping to find answers,
Answers that put a name to those feelings I had.
Each day I'd go to look at her,
And each day, her eyes would meet mine.
Chocolate brown pity would sweep from them
and course through me.
Her strength would infect me, and I'd turn away in blue eyed shame.
I tortured myself in wonder of
what
she must think of me.

At the beginning, there was only me.
No one could compete with me.
I was exquisite.
The perfect blue eyed blonde princess,
genteel in every way,
beautiful, accomodating smile.
Then I swallowed a slab of cold, hard truth.
I was not special.
There were a million girls that could be me.
But a million like her?
No.
She was special.

Smooth caramel brown skin
Long wild hair
Smooth, serene brown eyes filled with
beauty and wisdom
( and confidence).
And a smile
that without much effort
could melt a glacier through and through.
A smile
Even more perfect than my own.
Oh, how he loved her.

His fire for her consumed him.
He had pleaded with her to come into the house,
Come out of the sun.
I knew only because I'd heard the whispers of the maids.
She'd refused him.
I could never tell him no.
All I could do was offer my beautiful,
accomodating smile
(To hide the pain).
How I longed for her strength.
Yet I remained weak, wracked with envy and horror,
Because she owned him and didn't want him.
And as much as she didn't, I did.
She enveloped his soul.
I wanted to hate her (hate them both)
but I couldn't.

So, I stood in my fine home,
Wearing the finest dresses.
She worked tirelessly in the fields,
Under the watchful, longing eye of my husband.
Who, if it weren't so unreasonable, could very well be her husband.
Any man dare look at her,
Black or White,
He'd beat them within an inch of their life.
But...
What about me?
I just stood on the balcony,
looking at him (look at her)
Shielding my pale, fair skin from the sun,
I wished I were her.
To be she.
To see the love in his heart.
To feel the depth of his desire.
But no.
I was the the wife (he never touched),
the mistress of our home.
She was the one who owned his heart.
The mistress (who mattered).

Reviews

[Here's What I Say]

"I was the the wife (he never touched),
the mistress of our home.
She was the one who owned his heart.
The mistress (who mattered)."

:'(

Four lines. Summed up 3 months for me. Long in the past. One important difference: she loved him back. And she hated me for loving him too.

Aw, f**k them. The man I'm falling for right now has way more merit than my ex. I loved this.

[Ruby Moon]

this is just beautiful...painfully so
it paints the picture so beautifully, each stroke of the pen (metaphorically) puts an extra layer, an extra depth to it...

[Charles D. Moorer]

Absolutely beautiful! You have managed to capture the untold natue of many slave relationships. The wife knew, the husband did not care, and rather than give herself for the paltry comforts of the big house, the slave woman choose to keep her dignity in tact. Bravo.. This pieve sound like more.

[The Rock And Roll Cowbo..]

Very well descriptive... all I could picture the scene and feel the emotions... it played out like a scene on the silver screen with every last detail in place... great work.

[Divine Pain]

I love this poem! I actually pictured everything you wrote, I think this poems is one of the best that I've read so far. You did a very good job writing about a woman who desperately wants the attention her husband gives to this beautiful black woman. I love how you described how she wants to be in the shoes of that beautiful black woman. Great write.

[Markymark]

This brings to mind, Sally Hemings and TJ. Not sure how that played out....but we know the man from Monticello was juicing the help....DNA proved that. You have a unique way with words....that I REALLY LIKE. Who's your fav poet? Maya? Frost?

Just wondering--

Markymark

[jessfoundwonder]

I love this. 'nuff said (:
It's meaning is just what I look for when I read these things. (poems)
I've tried to capture a similar sense in my work, but I can't get it quite right.
Now, you on the other hand have done it beautifully.

[Collette]

I really enjoyed the way you took the "walk in somebody else's shoes", and you've done it in a way that connects the reader to both mistresses. I could feel the jealousy and longing of the wife, as well as the defiance and resistance of the woman in the field. Sometimes, it is hard to look back into history, but I think the personality you gave the poem took it to a place where it was okay to go back and reexamine that place in time. The strength of the slave girl is undeniable; your imagery sets her on fire.
great write, I loved reading it!

[Winter McPherson]

This is very good! I love the description of both women. It's almost like a very short novel. We get lost in a story quite briefly forgetting that its a poem......I could've kept reading - you drew me in from the beginning. I am intrigued by the beautiful slave girl and the maddening passion of the slavemaster as well as the pain and jealousy of his wife.

Both women are victims of the society they live in - both slaves in their own way. Thank God we don't have don't live like that anymore!! Great write!

[Kena Dawn Augustine]

wow, that was deep. kind of like an episode of "desparate housewives". no. you are an excellent writer, a way of using words that paint pictures, and bring a reader into your piece, so they want to keep reading and find out more. not everyone has that ability, and you do. thanks for sharing. i am becoming a fan now.