Lola

Oh, Lola

Three husbands.

Three sons.

Three grandsons.

Born in 1943, Lola was always

the dutiful homemaker and wife.

She never became the free love spirit

she so yearned and wanted to be.

Now time is running out on her,

like the pages in the notebooks

she spent her lifetime filling with poems

spewing her childish dreams

thoughts, feelings, and emotions.

Dreams never maturing beyond the ruminations

of a lonely teenaged girl filled with angst.

Lola, oh Lola.

Three husbands.

Three sons.

Three grandsons.

She surrounded herself with men.

Earning her own self worth

by constantly trying to please them.

Reflecting their aspirations and wants

into a mosaic molded to fit her needs.

Their dreams and accomplishments

became her misguided desires in the dark shadows of theirs.

Lola willingly gave up the womanly sacredness

that was God’s precious gift to her.

She could not let herself surrender,

breathe deep and calm her own mind.

Lola, oh Lola.

Three husbands.

Three sons.

Three grandsons.

The husbands are all gone now.

Two sit in urns on her mantle

and one cavorts in younger fresh pastures.

Sitting alone in her house on the hill,

she lives a fantasy life in the books she devours.

In the home that has become a prison

due to self-indulgence and self-neglect.

There is no man or friend to catch her

when she falls and cracks her head open

on the beautiful Mexican tiles

in the kitchen she so cherished.

Lola, oh Lola.

Three husbands.

Three sons.

Three grandsons.

Suddenly too tired to reach for her phone

as blood pools around

her closely cropped white hair.

Hair that once was vibrant, sleek, and black and

Attracted her husbands with its mysterious lustre.

Lola’s deep brown eyes are starting to fade

as the blood continues to flow

like toxic grief from her wounds,

emptying her veins onto the floor.

Her heart slows with regret.

She finally surrenders.

Lola, oh Lola.

Three husbands.

Three sons.

Three grandsons.

Lola, oh Lola.