Anne with an E

 

I stepped off of the train,

carpet bag in hand,

to the beatific face of that glorious man!

Matthew Cuthbert of the angelic, golden halo –

or so it seemed as he sat under the blossoming cherry bough.

 

Nearly,

nearly I was passed over because all for want of a boy

to help Matthew with the chores.

Nearly,

nearly was I passed over.

Marilla nearly sent me back

but for Matthew, my saviour!

 

They came to love me,

through my mis-steps

and mistakes:

the missing brooch, as the Lady of Shallot

getting Diana drunk on cordial

instead of giving her cider for our tea party

and breaking that slate over Gilbert’s head

when he called me “Carrots.”

 

I became their pride and joy,

long after my Matthew passed –

Marilla said she was glad I wasn’t a boy.

I gave sons to the Great War, you know?

Jem came home –

lost and changed –

but my sweet poet Walter remains in Courcelette where he fell.

No DCM[1] could bring him back:

hero or no hero.

 

So I mourned,

two babies,

my first and my soldier-poet son.

I tried to be strong for the others but it wore on me…

those ghosts.

 

Without Gilbert,

my rock,

I would have surely succumbed to despair and melancholy.

But here we are,

lost in the reverie of memory from the dusty shelves of the library.

Kept alive in the cozy bed time reading time

or dozy summer beach time.

 

For that, I heartily thank thee,

kind readers, all.

R. L. Elke

© Aug 5/17 prompt 16

[1]DCM= Distinguished Conduct Medal