I hear about her now and then.
The mythic stories are all that's left
Of the girl that people knew.
That girl who climbed a ladder up
To the skylight of the judge's house.
Who threw in stones and leaves and such
To land with the broken glass
When she was only five.
Where is the girl who snuck out at night
To gather with her little friends?
To play a game and see who won
At stealing cherries picked from trees
That other people owned.
Has she, the one who walked
To the bakery with a friend, escaped?
The bakery where sweet sixteen
Bought a dozen doughnuts.
Then lying by the lake would eat six each?
Is that her there?
I thought I saw a young woman on a horse.
Who rode down the highway middle
In a canter as equines eyed
The autos passing on either side.
No I have not met Joanne Dunn yet.
Though one last story I do recall.
That girl grew up and made a family.
Forgetting all her ways.
Time went by, and two generations later
The stories but remind me.
Oh have I seen though
someone else, a woman tall and strong?
Who walks with grace of another time
and who would demand of younger ones
to pull out chairs, "please and thank you",
and always scrub those knuckles!
What ever happened to Joanne Dunn?
I guess I'll never know.
We all grow up and so I suppose
She joined the world
The one I'll know some day.
