Prudence Barry
Actress & Poet
The Rocking Chair
Hattie’s in the rocking chair. The one
Charles gave mother
Before Hattie was born. Charles is
Our mother’s brother. You should see
Him shape wood for rockers!
“He can make anything ,” mother says.
“His hands have been touched
By a divine.”
I believe mother’s divine is
The brook and bridge under Jake’s willow tree.
I am in the habit of whispering
While I sit or stand, or when
I lie down on the bridge, named whisper
Bridge by mother. Uncle Charles says
Elizabeth, that’s his sister, “has words in her head
Touched by a divine.” Hattie’s my sister
And Elizabeth’s our mother.
One evening, a black cloud
Rolls across the sky.
Elizabeth, Charles, Hattie, Caroline, that’s me,
We watch the sky get darker and darker,
As if a wool curtain were flying across our eyes.
Mamma’s hand holds mine.
Charles’ index finger and thumb stroke my head.
And Hattie’s tight next to me where we sit
Deep back into the oak strong
Rocking chair while the storm of this decade
Shivers closer, closer.
The Room
(after
Matisse)
She walks in from the rain
To a long corridor hallway.
An only sound is the flap
Of her wet shoes. That sound stops.
Then a door opens, closes.
He holds her against the wall.
His body pressed into hers.
All around them the windows
Are dark with an outline
Of delicate spring trees,
Their arabesque green against
A maroon background.
“Listen to the rain,” she whispers.
“My love, my love,” he sighs again.
A white latticed window half open
Rectangles color.
Yellow ferns swirl
Across the space.
This man, this woman rest
Into a corner of the room fragrant
With wet earth and flowers.
And a sound of pools
In the streets
Echo rings on water
Where round lamps
Rock.
Prudence Barry produced the photographs as well as the poetry for this page. They are from her book titled “Beyond The House of Mary”. Prudence has been active in the theatre and films as an actress, director, and author of several produced plays. For more information about the author contact her at:
prudencebarry @ earthlink.net