Susan Evangelista


I was seventy-seven come August,
  I shall shortly be losing my bloom;
I’ve experienced zephyr and raw gust
  And (symbolical) flood and simoom.

When you come to this time of abatement,
  To this passing from Summer to Fall,
It is manners to issue a statement
 As to what you got out of it all.

So I’ll say, though reflection unnerves me
  And pronouncements I dodge as I can
That I think (if my memory serves me)
  There was nothing more fun than a man! 

“In my country,” he said in a soft, steady voice, “they used to burn widows to death on their husbands’ funeral pyres.”

“Used to is the operative word, I hope,” she answered lightly, masking the chill his comment sent through her.

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