Sunday 31 May 2020

An Old Story

by Cynthia Anderson

There once was a lonely man
in a house on a shady street
who saw my grandmother,
five years old, and took a shine
to her, wanting a daughter,
someone to look after, someone
to raise—and soon, someone
to cook and clean and care
for him. He went to her father
and tried to buy her.
She was the ninth child
and her family was poor,
so the cash would have been
a windfall. This man knocked
on the door for weeks, brought
candy and begged. But her
father stood firm—I can’t
spare any of my children.
Not even one. How often
in her life did she pass him
in the street, the park,
the square—and what sigh
of relief did she breathe
when he died?

* * * * *

Cynthia Anderson lives in the Mojave Desert near Joshua Tree National Park. Her poems have appeared in numerous journals, and she is the author of nine poetry collections. Her work has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. She co-edited the anthology A Bird Black As the Sun: California Poets on Crows &

1 comment:

  1. Held my breath reading this. My sigh came with hers.