Old woman walking down the street
Head bowed, hair unkempt, slightly unsteady
on her feet
Her face is wrinkled with time’s passing
She hasn’t lost her sight and that’s a blessing
Determined to survive is her primary mood
as she scours the remains of bins for food
Not so careful now about her appearance
No longing glance in the mirror for assurance

Newspapers are her fashionable winter coat
A medium of which once conveyed her story
of her days of fame and glory
She wears now with pride as a crumbling cloak
Upon her feet she wears odd ill fitting shoes
And shuffles through a gauntlet of jeers and boo’s

How many have stopped to hear her tales
of the famous ones she once entertained
Wooed by the then rich and famous
when holidaying in the cote d azur was a must
there were days when her name would sell seats in Vauderville
and headlining news making stories of her would top the bill

She carved a colorful career as an exotic dancer
Accompanied by her faithful pet Chiquita
Hailed as the most successful American in France
Captivating audiences with her naked dance
Hemmingway penned her as
“the most sensational woman you ever saw”
Her talent was God-given, untamed, versatile, and raw!

Her loyalty she showed to the people of France
And was awarded by de Gaulle the “Rosette of Resistance”
Given the name Freda Josephine McDonald at birth
She developed a following with her performances of mirth
Bridging cultures, class and traditions, she lived
a life of mounting splendor
A far cry from the life of the little girl raised in Arkansas

Now all that’s left are the memories and spiked dreams
No more headlines, no more audiences, or so it seems
Gone are the heady crazy days of wine and roses
Sashaying for the camera and striking poses

Her audience vanished, was this on purpose?
Times change; and with it comes new fashions
Exalting you Josephine was no longer such a passion

But in her weather –beaten face the memories live
Records of her life and all that she gave
Each line and wrinkle tells a story
Of the days when she lived in heightened glory


Lines around her neck and wrists
marks the places where diamonds used to sit
All that remains of her days of decadence
Is in her hand in the form of the
broken link from a pearl necklace

Overflowing thoughts in her vision plays
Making sure that true her memories stay
for her the flashing images in her mind has become a library
No ordinary bag lady before you now you see
This old lady is a part of history.

Bonny

A story for all is a great one indeed.



G

this old is the part of history, but also left a great marks of remberence bonny, nice job