For The Sunday Whirl: Wordle #69
Once Upon A Time Past
Anonymous, or so we thought.
Three middle-aged students
sitting in narrow alcove,
adjacent to Women’s Center.
Spinning slightly subversive
(perhaps warped) ideas, as lacy
cigarette smoke curves like misty
swirling maps toward high ceiling.
Ricochet of well-known chunky
heels reverberates through wide,
empty corridor. Silence reigns
as we await her passage.
She smiles, nods, takes two more
steps, stops and turns back,
“You know, I always worry a bit
when I see the three of you
huddled together, laughing.”
We listen to dwindling footsteps,
suddenly flooded with realization
that we are no longer
Elizabeth Crawford 8/12/12
Notes: The woman on my right was the first appointed student director of The Women’s Center. The one on my left was the appointed liaison between the Center and the Dean’s office. I had been hi-jacked by those two to become the first volunteer student Advocate for the Center. The ‘she’, in the poem, was the Dean of the University we attended. When Brenda’s list appeared in my email, I saw the word alcove and was immediately lost in the memory.
About a year later, the dean called me to the stage on Honors Day to present me with the honors award for both the History and English departments. Holding my hand, so I couldn’t walk away, she announced to the waiting audience, which included my Mother, two sisters, and my children, that she had “seen Elizabeth playing cribbage in the Peer Support Office,” but, after seeing my GPA, would not recommend that anyone invite me to play poker. I squirmed, but laughed along with all the others.