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.