GILT-EDGED FRAMING
She's a costly lady in a costly way,
and her life just seemed framed by
money - not smokestacks or gloom,
just money. Her father's maybe, when
he had the place called Highland Loom.
-
I never knew exactly what it was - a
factory, a mill, a grindwheel for some
hundred jobs. He kept the old place
running though, on the Concord or
Merrimmac River. I forget that too.
-
Two shifts would line up, outside the
old brick walls, and in through the
gatehouse they'd shuffle, just stopping
to punch their cards. Workday in, and
workday out. I never saw where anyone
lived, though it seemed few cars and
they all seemed to walk.
-
Some things that used to be clear to me
now seem old and foggy. Forgotten moments
of a memory, already unsound when new.
I lost track of her - Mary Meyberry - and
she's gone away but I don't know where.
There are times when everything is near
perfect - and there are times when you
just know the fit doesn't fit. My pencil'd
sketch in her gilt-edged framing.
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