From another, and long ago time, this woman is every woman. She developed out of my late wife's world as she lived it; encompassing much of what every woman seeks and desires.

Touching

In plain dress she waits patiently standing in the general store,
hearing alien sounds in animated conversation of neighbors, their
words touching and absorbing community friendship, but striking
her like storm driven rain splattering onto a single thought head.

On a September day she has driven the horse and wagon into town
to greet lifetime friends, bathe in the human warmth of commerce,
revel in variety, marvel at new colors and patterns, make a thousand
decisions on style, color, quality, knowing that only few will count.

Crop dollars buy repairs, new implements, livestock, church pledge,
doctor’s good will, afterward cash in hand is her currency to touch
another world, to feel new patterns in lace, brocade, linen and silks
the materials and imaging for making dreams as true as her intent.

As in dreams, tempting and satisfying, delight enters and moves on
to delicate fragrances of woman, touching rare art in glass bottles,
sniffing whiffs beyond expectation, inhaling gender-must aromas
beauty in forms long denied in an out-of-touch land of plain living.


F William Broome