Lydia

LYDIA by Judy Stennet She was best known for Walking down the white line On her way to town. Tall, straight, She wore seamed stockings And carried brown eggs In a basket on her arm. I remember her Making birds's nests From the cool, kelly-green grass In her front yard. I stole Christmas trees From her landBlackberries in summer. No one permitted in her house, Gray, ominous on the hillsideShe was alone, Neighbor, old maid, witch, Mystery in my childhood. She died Behind crocheted curtains. A lump in her chest No doctor was Allowed to see. 79 ...