It was ordinary rope
the type used to bind parcels to carts,
or carts to horses.
You thought nothing of it,
I am sure, when you left
your crooked house
down the steep wending steps
through the iris and gladiola,
to the dirt street and Sir’s house
to mop his floors, polish
silver that saw you
reflected, blond and worn...
***
Prompt=a person, place, or event that happened before you were born. This first stanza relates the suicide of my great-grandfather, an immigrant from Finland. He and my Mumu came to the United States and settled in Massachusetts with little more than the shirts on their backs. She worked as a maid; their son, who had tuberculosis, died two years later. My grandfather found his father swinging from a beam when he returned from school. Peace...
That first stanza has such an ominous tone, I knew it would lead somewhere with great sorrow. Your word choice in these little bits is impeccable.
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