The Woman in the Puddle
Submitted anonymously by a reader of The Southerly Way
Southerly Gothic is shaped not only by the legends we inherit, but by the stories readers carry with them.
In this reader-submitted poem, a mysterious reflection emerges after a long summer drought, offering a brief encounter with darkness, release, and unexpected renewal.
My feet pace the path up to my front stoop,
tracing the same track over and again
There's a woman down in the puddle there,
taking place of my reflection
The storm that brought her
punctuated a long, drought-filled summer
Ripples may wrinkle her visage
But underneath, the lady still shimmers
An uneasy silence staggers past
before I slip into her shallow abyss
Her cool touch meets my gentle blush
Cracking my facade with her fingertips
Harsh light penetrates the ground around me
The sun now peeking through a cloud-ridden sky
The last of her puddle vanishes into the air
I stand up slowly and watch her fly
Her hand’s cold sensation has left my face
Replaced with a new warm autumn glow
I said goodbye and breathed a sigh of relief
But I still hope for dark clouds outside my window
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