It was the FINAL night, and the play was going to CLOSE. We imagined ourselves such sophisticates — I was stage manager; I was friends with most of the cast. In between rehearsals, we critiqued films, made up dance routines, and debated philosophy — the usual stuff of smarty-pants college kids. But GOLLY, we did love a good show tune. So it was no great surprise that we ended the closing night cast party with a rousing rendition of “Hello, DOLLY!” à la Carol Channing. What fun, and what silliness!

Georg’ann

WATER seeped into the basement.
Oozing through the stone,
It was certain to SPOIL
all the collected, yet neglected,
archives of this well lived life.

COULD anything be salvaged
from the MOLDY ravages.
Even the rubber blender lid
was speckled with white spores.
Christmas paper, Easter baskets
no longer useable with musty odor.

Diplomas, trinkets, photos,
a canvas croquet bag,
a gingham lined basket
housing a Beatrix Potter tea set,
two teddy bears, one DOLLY,
scraps of fabric from Ghana,
a painting from Suriname.

The list goes on.

In college geology we learned
about water.
Learned it was the most
powerful force in nature.
It doesn’t need to be a flood,
doesn’t need millions of years.
One season of steady seeping
is sufficient to reorder a life.

Heather