The Two Old Widows

[Stephen Whiteside]

The Two Old Widows

© Stephen Whiteside 23.06.10

Now, Jack had moved on, and his mother’d lost hope,
When down from the clouds came a long length or rope.
It dropped and it dropped and she gazed up in awe,
Till the top came to rest right beside her front door.

Then up in the heavens she saw a black dot
Attached to the rope. Was it moving or not?
She stayed a full hour. It soon became clear
That something was climbing the twining so shear.

Down, ever down, came the wriggling shape,
And the hairs all stood up on her neck, near the nape.
Its clothes were all grubby. Its hair was a mess.
It was an old woman, no more and no less.

Jack’s mother stood still, her confusion complete,
Till the other at last felt the ground near her feet.
She asked her no questions (it wasn’t the time),
Beyond, “Care for a cuppa? You’ve had a tough climb.”

The stranger looked up, wiped the sweat from her brow.

“Would I care for a cuppa? Would I like one? And how!”
Jack’s mum thought that maybe she’d made a mistake
As the stranger untidily wolfed down her cake,

But at last she seemed ready to give up her tale,
And the words that she spoke made Jack’s mother turn pale.
“My story’s a strange one. It’s long and it’s sad.
He wasn’t that good, but he wasn’t that bad.

“My husband, I mean. And he’s now, alas, dead,
And it’s lonely and cold ev’ry night in my bed.
I’ve stood it for years, but I’ll stand it no more.
If you can’t take a risk sometimes, what is life for?”


The words spilled out fast. She was supple and pliant.
“My man was an ogre. A monster. A giant.”

Jack’s mum gave a gasp, and her face became white,
But she stayed very still, and she shut her mouth tight.

“But a boy came and killed him, first stealing his gold,
And now I am tired, and lonely and old.”

“That boy was my son” (a half whispered voice),
“What he did was quite wrong, but we had not a choice.

“It was stealing or starving. We stood at a fork.
I could say I was sorry, but what use is talk?”

“I suspected as much,” said the ogre’s old wife,
“But I do not believe in a life for a life.

“I once craved revenge, yes, but time dulls the pain.
It could lose me a lot. It would bring me small gain.”
“Well, Jack’s with his wife now. They never come here.
He no longer thinks of his mother, I fear.

“I, too, am a widow. I live all alone.
I’m gen’rally viewed as an ugly old crone.
You’d be welcome to stay. I could do up Jack’s room.
It needs to be lived in. It’s cold as a tomb.”



“That’s terribly kind. You could climb up the rope

And live in my palace.” “I just couldn’t cope
With a challenge like that. I could not leave the ground.

Which reminds me. Now, where was a rope like that found?”

The old woman chuckled, “His hair was so strong.
Each strand was like wire. Of course, it grew long.
I cut them, but never could throw them away.
I thought that they might come in handy one day.

“I weaved a fine rope, though it sapped all my strength.
Ten years it took me to get enough length.”

“My Lord, you’re a marvel!” Jack’s mum gave a snort.

“There’s not many living today of your sort!”

And so the two nattered. The time it just flew,
Till bright moon and star light replaced the sky blue.
They’d so much in common, in spite of their past.
Their friendship was one that was destined to last.

Yes, the two ladies both got on famously well.
(Were they held in the thrall of the beans’ magic spell?)

I tell you, that partnership started to hum,
The wife of the giant, and Jack’s poor old mum!

[Zondrae]

Now,, very well done Stephen,

A real original idea. Not a twist but an extension. I can't wait for the next one. what will it be.
What happened to the 7 dwarfs after Snowwhite left them in the lurch?
How did Rupunzle ever get her head together after the which cut her hair?

There must be at least two dozen of them.

[Stephen Whiteside]

Have you heard of the 'Spud Poetry' Competition at the Koroit Festival in Victoria, Zondrae? I was planning on writing 'Snow White and the Seven Spuds' (Masher, Boiler, Sweetie, etc.) but I discovered they no longer have a written element - performance only, and I can't get there. I probably should write it anyway...

[Heather]

Aaah Stephen, I always know I am in for a treat when I see your name attached to a poem. Loved it!

Heather

[Stephen Whiteside]

Thanks, Heather.

[Zondrae]

No Stephen,

I have not heard of "Spud Poetry". I have, however, heard several fractured versions of Cinderella who slopped her dripper on the pairs of the stalace. When the pransome hince tried it on other mung yadens it fidden dit.

I don't think I have heard one about Snow White yet. I have thought of finding a rather obscure fairy tale and fracturing it but the the thing that makes them funny is that everyone knows the original story. So an obscure one would have to be explained, can't be funny then.

[Stephen Whiteside]

Yes, 'Rindecella'. Funny you should mention that, Zondrae, as I have just referenced it also!