Saying Hello to Miss Emily

I got off the tram a stop early while coming home today;

I wanted to dawdle a little in the crisp winter air along my way.

As I crossed on to Borsbergstrasse, a grin spread across my face

As I caught sight of Miss Emily, exactly where she stood every day.

I gazed at her complexion, well-worn with time and still managing a creamy white

As she twinkled at me from behind lace curtains and through soft candle light.

Her garrets curved happily, lit by the largest bay windows around;

Her kitchen smelled of warmth and cookies baked to the perfect golden-brown.

She called out to me softly, that lonely lady of times gone by;

And creaked open her wrought-iron gate invitingly under the evening sky.

Isn’t the cold just hateful, and would I like some cocoa with honey?

Won’t I come in and sit by the fire, tell her something funny?

She has such terrible nightmares, she explains; about things only she remembers.

Memories of horrific years gone by, stories of a war and its dying embers.

“Maybe some other night, Miss Emily”, I reply, with a sorry smile.

“I’ll come by to eat ginger cookies and stay a little while.”

She swishes her curtains and wraps me up in a large rotund hug.

She whispers that I must come back and slowly puts away the cocoa mug.

[I lived on Borsbergstrasse in Dresden for seven months in the year of 2011. The street was lined with the most charismatic mansions I have ever had the pleasure of meeting, all the way from the tram stop at the corner up until my dormitory building. A pre-war mansion, a Victorian looking mansion, a run-down scary one, a stern, austere one - all with their own personalities and stories, or so I like to believe. It made for very, very interesting walks home.]