09/21/1995  Dorothy J. Carbone
(inspired by “The Mill” by Edwin Arlington Robinson)



I knew a little of them both, though I can almost catch a glimpse,
or smell of yeast, of mother’s skirt.
As I hold on to but the hem of heavy wool.
Of father, there is less than that,
the feel of whiskers on my face.
Little left but me.
After waking from the nap to cold damp chill of dusk.
While empty darkness all around me, made crickets come to life.
Too scared to move, from the warmth of their bed,
snuggled under covers thick, was where they would find me.
Three days had passed since the nap began.
Smaller and frail I felt without them beside me.
Pulled from the bed, and pushed into the world.
How could I have known, no one said the words.
In fear, I would cry.
Looking back, I don’t think I knew, or how my life would run on without them.
No Miller’s anymore for my name will surely change.
Time has passed, yet those days remain around me.
The nuns have tried to show the way, away from the path they took.
Who is right? Who is wrong? I sit here on the edge of life.
Down the aisle I go, now there are no Miller’s anymore!