POW PROMPT 5
Aunt Helen ~ by T.S. Elliot
"Miss Helen Slingsby was my maiden aunt,
And lived in a small house near a fashionable square
Cared for by servants to the number of four.
Now when she died there was silence in heaven
And silence at her end of the street.
The shutters were drawn and the undertaker wiped his feet--
He was aware that this sort of thing had occurred before.
The dogs were handsomely provided for,
But shortly afterwards the parrot died too.
The Dresden clock continued ticking on the mantelpiece,
And the footman sat upon the dining-table
Holding the second housemaid on his knees--
Who had always been so careful while her mistress lived."
The above poem by T.S. Elliot, titled Aunt Helen, inspired me to write a poem about my cousin, also a spinster named Helen. And therein ends any similarity ...
Cousin Helen
Miss Helen Briggs, first cousin once removed on Mother's side,
lived in a quiet one-bedroom walk-up near the river.
Once beautiful, she was lumpy and slow and walked with a cane.
A spinster long before I was born, she spent her future
working at the packing plant, preparing weekly payrolls.
Years became decades; without warning she was old.
If she'd had dreams, she tucked them in her hope chest
along with fine linen tea towels and pillow cases hemmed
when she was a girl, when all things were still possible.
Cousin Helen spent holidays with us, sleeping alone
in the drafty second floor guest room on Jefferson Avenue.
She nagged Father sometimes; then he'd roll his eyes
and wink at Mother. Mostly she stayed shut away in the kitchen
washing stacks of dishes after Christmas dinner, drying
the good china carefully before putting it back on the shelf.
Cousin Helen died the way she lived, never belonging to anyone.
3 comments:
Oh this is so sad. Almost every family in our generation had an Aunty Helen. I hope the Aunty Helens of this world had some joy in their lives.I suppose there are some who would envy Aunty Helen. Husbands and children do not always bring joy. I always enjoy your poems Marianne.
This is a sad story but, as Rall says, can no doubt be recounted many times over. I particularly like the poignancy of:
"If she'd had dreams, she tucked them away in her hope chest
along with the fine linen tea towels and pillow cases
she carefully hemmed as a girl, when all things were still possible."
Wow incredibly sad story and well written Marianne!
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