Pine Mountain Cemetery XIII

You never know what a kid will pick up.
Ms. Frances over there next to him,
Mr. Sampson, her husband, threw open

A world for me so different, even my
Wild imagination could not conjure.
She smoked, shocking enough, but

More than that her cigarette perched
At the end of a long stick she swung
Around for emphasis and direction

As in “Pick up the book hand it to me”.
Did you know there were magazines
Mailed out named Opera News?

She gave me a load of them. Me who
Hadn’t the faintest clue about opera.
But when she really turned my head

Was with an entire set of Little Colonel
Books. She was kin to the Little Knight
Of Kentucky, if you can believe that.

Once a week a new one would be tucked
Under my arm, but only if the other came
Back in good order, those stories of her kin.

Mercy if I had that set today, I could set
Sail for a world tour, valuable I guess.
Then though priceless was the imaginary

Trip taken through those magic pages.
This was Harry Potter before J.K. was born.
Movies captured the child with dolls dressed.

Stars made their reputations, and we think
We have all the corner on marketing sales.
I hope she has lots to read resting on her cloud.

Frances, the only sophisticate I ever knew,
Childless, alcoholic I imagine, gravel voiced
Opened a world hidden to a mountain kid.

And this lonesome isolated women
Marked a path for adventures spread out
Far beyond the few years she had left.