Erstwhile classmate Rosemary—
I’ve heard she married a count: making her,
in the usual course of things, a countess.
Either she left the new world for the old,
or he came over in this direction,
and allowed being a count to count for less.
Rosie would wear her title light—
no inviting the paparazzi in for a photo-op
when she read to children—
she’d answer her own phone, keep a budget,
carry her shopping bags herself.
In home-room, she sat
just behind me. We would visit, awaiting
the first-period bell.
Once, she requested
my hand, gently turned it over, and said—
“Let’s see what our two lifelines tell us.”
Russell Rowland writes from New Hampshire, where he helps judge Poetry Out Loud competitions. His latest poetry books, Wooden Nutmegs and Magnificat, are available from Encircle Publications. He is a trail maintainer for the Lakes Region (NH) Conservation Trust.
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