The Shop Down the Street
With Rosemary's face against a pane of cold glass she looked into the shop down the street;
Where in would come suitors and husbands and beaus, each with a lady to meet.
With the swing of the door the bell tied to the frame would be struck and emit a high ring;
They'd pull out their wallets and pay their due cost for the joy that they know they will bring.
She loved every person who went into this place;
Every fingernail and eyelash and feature on their face.
Oh how she wished that she could belong;
But her clothes were all dirty and her hair was all wrong.
She loved seeing wives who would go by themselves looking to color their homes;
Or the boys who were there for the very first time with their hair nicely parted and combed.
Each with a reason, each with a plan, each with a purpose and cause;
Each with a flower from the shop down the street clenched in their fortunate paws.
She'd been there before, once as a girl, with her father when he was around;
But now with him gone and her mother as well she hadn't money to buy flowers in town.
It's not easy for a girl to accept that she's poor though she can barely put shoes on her feet;
It's not easy for a girl to accept she wont ever own flowers from the shop down the street.
Every night she'd walk home down a road that was littered with buildings that were beaten and poor;
There were cats in the alley and rats in the drain, there were potholes all over the floor.
It was bleak, it was dreck, it was dark and it was gray;
And no matter what she did she knew she'd never get away.
She was trapped in this town, she dared not try to get out;
She dared not to dream and she dared not to shout.
This was her life and it always would be, this much she'd grown to accept;
She was one with these buildings which were shabby and drab as its what her insides reflect.
Such a sorry affair had it all come to be she thought as she was alone;
For years this went on, looking into the shop, then walking herself to her home.
And on a day like any other, kicking rocks as she stepped, she came to a halt in her path;
And was met by a man with a blue collared shirt and a thick, but well groomed mustache.
"The road has been closed, we're sealing it down, every building is being revamped";
"There's a detour down there, but don't be too long as the path is not lighted or lamped".
Rosemary quivered and shivered in fear of what she thought could or may lie ahead;
She thought she must run and get quickly to bed because of what the big mustache had said.
And so she ran towards the detour expecting to find a foul odor and pavement and trash;
But to her surprise when she looked down past her feet all she found was the dirt and the grass.
There were greens and browns and purples and blues, there were trees and bushes and shrubs;
There were bees finding pollen and squirrels finding nuts and the clouds were fluffy above.
She was soothed by the chirping of a bird in a tree she was healed by his singing cuckoo.
She wanted no distance between her and this world so she took off her left and right shoe.
She could feel the ground wriggle between ten of her toes and could feel the soft breeze blow her hair;
She could feel that she hadn't much time before dark but she also knew she didn't care.
She walked down the path at a leisurely pace, taking time so her senses could feast;
She walked silent at times with deliberate steps to admire every creature and beast.
And after walking a while, several hours or so, the path she could no longer see;
The darkness had fallen, the sun had gone down on every pebble and beetle and tree.
So she went to lie down and find a spot for the night, for there was nobody waiting at home;
But Rosemary wasn't anxious or nervous or sad despite the fact that she was alone.
And so she laid her head for the rest of the night letting the darkness put things in their place;
And didn't feel fear of the unknown in the dark because this was her secretive place.
The soil was fresh and contoured to her shape, the grass was spongy and soft;
She'd never slept soundly as she had at that night without flipping or waking or toss.
When the morning came knocking the sun rose up on high and cast light so she'd open her eyes;
And the morning was bright and was honest and just and could never tell a false or a lie.
She continued to lay in the grass where she slept until the morning had come and it went;
The only thing which awoke her was the gust of cold wind which had brought with it a glorious scent.
And so she sprang to her feet and had a look at the field which she'd laid in since late in the night;
And saw there were flowers which littered the field in every corner and crevice of sight.
All kinds of flowers, magenta's and greens, all kinds of tones, bold ones and creams;
There were all different sorts of colors and size;
But all the choice faded when she saw her prize.
It had big yellow pedals and was turned towards the sun;
It was tall and it was delicate and it was vibrant and fun.
It was looking right at her as if it knew she was there;
And the whole world was muted, every worry, every care.
She picked it from the ground and felt its prickly coat;
Saw the veins in its leaves and the brown where she'd dote.
She felt the stem which was strong and the head which was soft;
And a scent which had grabbed her and sent her mind wandering off.
'This is my flower', she said, 'the one that I choose';
'Now I'll belong at the shop down the street, what good news'.
And so she got back on the path and went directly to her home;
Not seeing the town had now prospered and the town had now grown.
She put on her best clothes and sprayed her only perfume;
And was off in a flash, in a jiff, in a zoom.
And so she rushed through the town, looking only ahead;
Not seeing the bricks were all new and the buildings were red.
There were people in the streets and vendors in their shops;
There were dogs being walked and busses making stops.
There was the clatter and bustle of an organism alive;
Everything breathing and being hip to the jive.
But with only the shop down the street on her mind;
Here eyes wide open but her vision gone blind.
She didn't see the glory which had come over night;
The majesty and wonder and the bright hopeful light.
She stood at the door of her destination at last;
With the days of her looking through the window in her past.
And pushed open the door and felt its cold filtered air;
A sign of fulfillment of every dream and every prayer.
She walked into the shop as if she knew she belonged;
Humming the tune to some old movie song.
And walked down its isles and up through its lanes;
And saw that the flowers were behind a glass window pane.
And this confused her a bit, because her flower grew free;
It grew by a honey-bug and a clover of three.
She asked the clerk how these flowers got stuck behind glass;
But she her paid no attention as the question went passed.
'I can help you plant them in a garden if you'd like';
'I know of a field if you'll just make the hike';
But the clerk didn't move, she stood perfectly still;
With a stony cold face that would give you a chill.
'Excuse me', she said, 'all these flowers are trapped';
'What is it you want?' the clerk finally snapped.
'All these flowers are on shelves and confined to a pot';
'Yes I'm aware of that dear, now what's that that you've got?'
She pointed at her flower with a most distasteful stare;
'Well, make it quick, I haven't a moment to spare'.
'This is my flower which I've brought for you to see';
'I found it in a field and it belongs only to me'.
And the clerk took the flower with reluctance at best;
And looked it over in passing without much interest.
'It's called a sunflower but yours is more of a weed';
'There isn't much special about its blossom or seed.
'If I'm honest it's worthless, we couldn't sell it if we tried';
And Rosemary took her flower and she sobbed and she cried.
And she ran back to the field that she laid in last night;
The water from her eyes distorting her sight.
'I don't understand what makes my flower no good';
'I would have left it before if I knew that I should'.
As if to throw it on the ground she said 'I'm finished with you';
'You couldn't do as you said or as I wanted you to'.
'I see that I need money to belong at the shop';
'To buy a flower from its shelves that'll make the badness stop.
As she turned to walk home, leaving the flower where it lay;
She heard a girls voice from not too far away.
'Excuse me miss, but your flower has fell';
'It dropped from your hand but it seems you didn't tell'.
'What a beautiful flower', the girl continued on;
'What sorrow you'd know when you realized it'd gone'.
'A flower like this only comes once in a life';
'It needs to be cared for and pruned with a knife'.
'Well if you like it so much I'll give it to you I swear';
'Just give me whatever you have and we're square'.
And Rosemary made enough money, but in the most devilish of ways;
But turning a free flower into the kind where one pays.
And with a jingle in her pocket she went rattling down the tracks;
And crossed over to the sidewalk paying no attention to the cracks.
She ran down the street at a most torrid pace;
With a crinkle in her brow, determination on her face.
And she arrived at the shop at 5:59;
Just as it was reaching its locking up time.
And Rosemary said 'here I am I've come back';
'I've come to buy a flower from your shelf off your rack'
'You'll have to come back tomorrow, we are just about closed';
'Oh please', said Rosemary, 'just a prim or a rose'.
'And you have money to pay? You're not wasting my time?'
'I wouldn't dare waste your time, as I dare not waste mine'.
And the clerk could now see that Rosemary had changed;
Something inside her had been rearranged.
She didn't seem sweet or naive as she had;
But more like a grown up who was jaded and sad.
'Please make it quick, don't fiddle or roam';
'It's past six o'clock and I want to go home.'
And Rosemary went in, with her money in hand;
She walked past the gardenia and the moon orchid stand.
The colors and prices all blurred into one;
Each flower assigned a number you must pay for its fun.
Rosemary continued with nothing catching her eye;
And so she stopped arbitrarily when she heard the clerk sigh.
She was in front of the hydrangeas which were pleasant enough;
They were certainly prettier than most other stuff.
And Rosemary said 'this one will do, this white one right here;'
'A hydrangea, how lovely, good choice there my dear'.
And so she paid her due cost, as she had seen others do;
Through the window of the shop she felt she now belonged to.
She walked onto the pavement as the clerk locked the store;
And felt the thud of the deadbolt as it sealed closed the door.
And somewhere inside her Rosemary didn't feel right;
Maybe it was her stomach or her shoes were too tight.
And she looked at her flower for which she had emptied her trough;
And could feel there was something different, something wrong, something off.
It was delicate, its true and it would look nice in a home;
It would look nice on a desk where it would speak not an ohm.
It would look nice in a kitchen or office or suite;
It would look wonderful and be silent, and be very discrete.
It would blend and eventually fade;
Never having once been moved or been swayed.
Never having gone out to be warmed by the sun;
And it dawned on Rosemary just what she had done.
She kicked off her shoes and ran back to the field to see if the little girl hadn't gone;
Hopefully she'd stayed and laid in the field the same as when Rosemary was drawn.
But the girl wasn't there, not a trace of her in sight;
And Rosemary fought back her tears with all of her might.
And she dropped to the floor to breath in the space
You could see the heaviness pulling her shoulders and face.
And Rosemary sat there with her guilt and her blame;
Regretful she was caught up in such a dangerous game.
Her flower was gone, she had sent it away;
When all that it wanted was to love and to play.
Never again would she see it shine or it glisten;
Or have it around when she needed it to listen.
And it was a long walk home for Rosemary that night;
Who no longer was cheery or excited or sprite.
The path went on for miles, it seemed it'd never end;
Around every corner another twist, another bend.
And when she was finally home, when she arrived at her door;
She looked at her feet to see her flower on the floor.
And pinned to it a note that was pretty shade of pearl;
And Rosemary knew it was from the little girl.
The note read, 'This is your flower, which you had once sent away';
'But it wanted only you, it was yours anyway'
'It would have waited forever, it was lovesick, you see';
And Rosemary learned that free flowers are the best flowers, indubitably.
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