Slow boat from Edinburgh
around the Cape at eighteen
to teach the Indians in Fresno,
youngest of four daughters
wrought by the headmaster
of a proper school for girls –
a cork upon the ocean apart
from the main, from family
and culture in the steam
ship’s wake, but for what
she packed with her.
After a buggy-ride courtship,
she married an orangeman,
a horticulturist of all stripes.
And in the 30s, she had a bed
for Marian Anderson when
no one in Exeter would have her,
once they learned that she was black.
Lights in her bedroom
before she died at 92.
I have to believe her.
drycrikjournal 
More, please! What a woman!
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