Widows Night At The Hall

Widows Night At The Hall

The sun fades slowly through the windows at the Hall
as shadows march along the floor and up the wall,
outside, reaching into failing light the neon signs faint glow
growing brighter, ever brighter as stars begin their flight
above the black mountains brooding jagged line,
inside, floors shake with soft rumble and faint quake
as the furnace gives battle with the chill of coming night,
from the wall a hundred eyes stare into fast fading light
as patriarchal ghosts again take up their eternal watch,
while in the kitchen just below, soft sounds give forth
as the smell of food being cooked gives off tempting scent
adding to the memories of a thousand meals gone by.

One by one they enter the familiar Hall, with halting steps
their feet unsure, though they tread an old familiar stair
eyes dimmed by ruthless age, some may mis-step and fall,
and so a helping hand stretches forth to give support
slowly, step by painful step each makes her way below,
hair turned white by time, faces lined by wisdom’s growth,
they enter this place they’ve been a hundred times, to sit, to talk,
to sit again with friends of old and perhaps meet some new
to again see a familiar face, eyes smiling from remembrance
the faces now like theirs, grown old, but smiling none the less
each feels once more love’s mantle wrap them in its gentle fold
gathered yet again to re-live an old rite of this gentle craft.

They sit ‘round the tables, their voices quickly rise and fall
then stop to take a small sip, and begin again in turn to speak,
not of times gone by, days ahead, or lessons learned and yet;
they cannot help recall when they were young so long ago
hair so dark, skin so smooth, steps so quick, eyes so bright,
face unmarred by the care of years that time has wrought,
they speak not of husbands hid in secret places of the heart,
nor of children who were the focus and pleasure of their life,
but of their children’s sons and daughters and what each has done
as they trade news of all the joy and sorrow the year has brought,
they each in turn-by-turn bring old friends long apart up to date,
of journeys made and presents bought, of friends no longer here.

Eyes dance, faces glow, they sit side by side with smiles wide
when they turn to greet each arriving friend of times gone by,
they sip their coffee when others speak, their heads sometimes turn,
to watch the wives and men, set tables, fill the cups, bring the food,
and perhaps recall, what they now receive was once theirs to give,
when their belief was sure, step so spry and clothes so gay
of nights they and their now-gone mate once danced away,
of honored smiling white-haired ladies who have been long gone
to join mates who left them years ago to make their way alone,
and yet not quite alone; for they are served by those now here
just as they who are being served, once did in the long ago
for each in turn must help take up life’s load in equal share.

Come and sit, and tell of all you know; of days so long ago,
recall those photo’d faces which grace the upstairs wall,
whose silent watchful gaze follows us ‘round the hall,
they who sat by your side and helped serve meals in the long ago
when days were sunny, nights were gay, and hearts were light,
tell me about days now gone, of birth, life, and perhaps of time
when you were the help-mate, you were the Master’s wife,
tell me of joy and sorrow, of no thought that life would end,
tell me that I may know and so that all who will may learn,
I’ll commit to paper the story you tell about so long ago,
as you sit in this Hall one more time you all must surely know
you are our history, our past, you are our lifeline.

No matter now, for time slips by, come and sit yet awhile,
let us wrap you in our love, for as I gaze upon your face I see,
and know that all too soon, my love, my light, will take your place
in the seat in which you now sit, and she too will someday speak
of journeys made, presents bought, and friends no longer here,
and from the walls of that old Hall, my face with stony glance
will help take up watch in the eerie hush of gloomy night,
I worry not that this shall be, for I know that through the years
she too will fold herself in the mantle of the widows wrap
and feel the grace of love, as ‘round her shoulders it softly falls
to hide the gray hair and and wisdom lines, and yet;

Come sit and tell me true, tonight when in bed you lie
will your minds-eye turn to thoughts of long ago,
will your dreams be of days gone by, friends now gone,
long walks, happy days, of dancing the night away,
will the thoughts of younger days bring to you a smile,
for if this be true then I know what I now do is best,
for when time is nigh for me to draw my final breath
I’ll take my willing leave of this world with great content
to know my love will in her turn be wrapped in love,
and she like you, will upon returning home, in her bed lie,
and with a smile, her dreams will be of times gone by, and
with no thought of age, we like you, danced the night away.

Ronnie Wachuka

sign me A Horny ‘ol Sailor 30-