When Martha, Nr 3, arrived, she carried two folders of papers that I had written long ago at her request, thinking it might help me remember situations from my past, which would then help me with my blog. I have not had time to read all of it but this attempt at poetry amused me. Hope it will do the same for you. I think I have mentioned the event before. It is written in the form of a letter. It was called Dear Jeffrey, but if I were truthful it would have been called Dear Marcus.
FRANKLY MY DEAR, I DO GIVE A DAMN
Watching GONE WITH THE WIND last night made me remember.
Remember the night of August 1, 1943, the night before Sam and I were married.
It was Georgia hot. Sticky and hot.
I sat on the floor by the fireplace, a carton filled with papers by my side.
One by one the papers burned. Letters from Sweden.
Letters from young men in the Armed forces. Some with proposals of marriage.
Newspaper clippings and photographs
And then - all my Clark Gable pictures.
As more papers burned, the hotter the room became. I read and agonized.
Should I, or should I not. Burn this or save that.
Should I marry Sam, or should I not.
I cried silently, feeling so alone.
Did I really want to marry Sam?
I hardly knew him. He was infantry bound for unknown destinations.
If I let him go, I might never see him again.
That was the worst of all possible scenarios.
I never regretted marrying Sam
But why did I think I had to burn my past? Who knows?
After watching Clark Gable, I suddenly regretted that nights absurdity.
Had I not burned those papers,
I could now better share my past with our four children and our grandchildren.
And I would still have all your letters.