By Kathleen Holliday I, too, had great expectations. To be or not to be a wife defined my life. My dowry guaranteed a husband, and I would be a mother, helpmeet, nurse. Nothing could be worse than that damning epithet: old maid. Left at the altar – jilted. My bouquet wilting, I drew my veil […]Continue reading… "Ms. Havisham"
It is time for putting away – and yet,
An aura lingers over a photograph,
A card or two.
Of himself, there is hardly a sign;
Red roses in the vase blacken
I hoped to burst into leaf
(Having read it worked for her)
My toes sunk deep into brown carpet,
Arms branching toward the ceiling –