Ethel Taylor.(New Poems)(Poem)

 
Ethel Taylor 
 
   Bookkeeper for a small firm that made dyes, 
   She boarded at my grandparents' and loved 
   But had an allergy to strawberries. 
   Strawberry imagery adorned her note cards; 
   On her wall hung a still life of a dish 
   With strawberries, three apples, and a lemon; 
   Her teacups had a strawberry motif, 
   Red fruits and green stems twining round their bowls. 
   Such was her predilection and good nature 
   That she seized chances to help others savor 
   What fate and her physician had denied her; 
   And on snow-muffled evenings when I shoveled 
   My grandparents' front walk, she'd have me in 
   And serve me strawberry preserves on toast; 
   Or in the summer when I mowed the lawn 
   She'd hull fresh berries for me and present them 
   With shortcake and great dollops of whipped cream. 
 
   Having no relatives except a brother, 
   A railway mail clerk over in New Hampshire, 
   She shared her birthdays and her holidays 
   With our extended family and attended 
   With friends subscription-series plays, recitals, 
   And concerts at the university. 
   Whether from pre-lapsarian innocence 
   Or post-lapsarian calculation, she 
   Had found and filled a niche that suited her; 
   And though that time was hard on single women, 
   She never seemed to rue her lot or wish 
   That she had had a family of her own. 
   She wasn't Robinson's Aunt Imogen, 
   Nor was I a Young George, whose boyish charms 
   Could pierce a spinster with her childlessness. 
   However patiently she lent herself 
   To news of school and church-league basketball, 
   My volubility sometimes fatigued her; 
   And, following one garrulous report, 
   She set her cup back coolly on its saucer 
   And said, "Aren't we a chatterbox today"-- 
   Making a blush spring hotly to my face 
 
   For having, in my vanity, imagined 
   That I'd been entertaining, when I'd merely 
   Been spraying words about, much in the way 
   That an untended hose, flopping and thrashing, 
   Jets water here and there at everyone 
   And everything in its vicinity. 
   The only sign that lack might haunt her life 
   Came when her company moved to ...