the little grey lady of the sea

 

 

Martha’s Vineyard is running fat

with high-end Bermudas

Melissa Odabash beachwear -

well-heeled bohemia

 

let’s get away

take a boat trip

to Nantucket

 

what a spring we spent there 

at the cedar-shingle hotel

with the creaking rusting sign

and the little grey creaking

maîtresse de maison

who, brushing the stoep

with a besom broom,

sang Huguenot villanelles

each day before dawn

 

racing boneshakers on

Main Street cobbles,

showing off, you fell off

and hobbled the holiday

your leg encased 

 

I wrote obscenities

at the top of the cast

where Mme Du Cros would not see

 

the smiling maîtresse patted your head

made you torte and cherries –

‘nourriture de confort’,

or so she said.

 

I heard madame died  -  

heart failure - after

one winter storm too many

 

they put her to earth in Prospect Hill

 

it will be good to see

the place

our little grey lady lays

 

we’ll seek her out

pay our respects

 

I’ll gentle

a pinch of your ashes

over her grave.