Margret's Prayer
Widow Margret told her beads
on her husband's creaky porch
over 5 O'clock Coffee each morning.
That black and white photograph
of her and her husband, peered
at her from the lamp stand.
The Welcome mat outside, unworn
and the new green cushion next to her
stared at the maid in the rocker.
The string of soft beads,
let slip from her fingers,
laid down on the shag carpet.
A twitch sprouted above her eye,
below the brown penciled eyebrow;
for the first time Margret listened…
The house's heater hissed and clanked,
bagels popped from the toaster,
her breath seemed to strangle the porch.
As the last steam rose from the mug
dissipating like a ghost at dawn,
Margret still sat rocking.
poem by Jacob Bearer
Added by Poetry Lover
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