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Francie Lynch


The Gypsy Woman


'Whist, is what Mammy said,
As she whisked us off to bed.
Usually we'd go quietly.

But a gypsy woman sat
At our table,
Reading tea leaves,
Pouring prophecies.

Guests were few,
And she, I knew,
To be a special one.
She saw dark clouds in cups.

My sisters,
Past the tender age,
Stayed up longer,
Heard her bray:
'Tall dark men
Are on their way.'

I pricked my ears
Up stairs,
I tried to put both
On the vent,
Both of them
Were forward bent.

Just then my father
Climbed the stairs;
I saw the dark mop
Of his hair.
He was tall,
He wasn't humming.
No one else foresaw
His coming,
But I made it to bed.

Submitted: Sunday, July 20, 2014
Edited: Sunday, July 20, 2014

Topic of this poem: youth


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