17th century Boston
voyagers never long forgotten,
They traveled long and far
wanting religious freedom and all.
My name was Looney Meek, just seventeen
I sported dark eyes that held what none had seen,
A widowed mother, kind yet torn
Where shadows lurked, where fate was born.
The time period of witches and patriarchy,
Men wielded their scrutiny
Women either followed the herd or joined the cursed,
Most never spoke a word.
The choice was never theirs,
Just the men who branded the lands.
Mother wove her cloth, what skillful hands,
a fair maiden who successfully sold her hems,
She fell for a man both sly and cold,
Whose promises were lies untold.
It became too late,
He chose her date.
Father had died of Typhus,
it was taboo for a woman to remarry,
men avoided her permanently,
for affairs with a widow were sinful,
dreadful,
made one a sinner:
you were cursed
so men gazed at the floor,
all except the Respectable Man,
whose words were rehearsed.
I felt a chill beneath his words,
a venomous purr,
So pungent that it made my bones hurt.
The others swooned and were enticed by his name,
I knew he was a deadly game.
My mother's eyes fluttered,
She only uttered,
"Well, he could be my new lover."
"Mother, let's go,"
I nodded to the merchandise,
told her to think twice,
We must finish selling if we want dinner tonight.
As he left, my mother was charmed,
nothing could be undone,
I told her he was sly and cold,
She chased him like a fervid goat,
And ignored my warning behold.