Standing tall, looking regal

With beauty in her bearing.

Savannah has a friend or two,

A family, a home for sharing,

And the strength to be true

To her convictions.


Watching from a neighbor’s window,

It’s easy to see Savannah has everything.

Yet deep within her heart,

She is haunted because a part

Of her life is missing.


On some days she wears her smile

Like well-placed lipstick,

A practiced art she learned years ago

To covers the flow of hidden feelings.


The precise part

Of her thick, brown hair

Implies how well she pares

Her needs.


Yet, at odd, unguarded moments,

Often in the midst of a crowd,

Her liquid cares ooze to the surface

And she feels that which is not allowed.


“Why in the midst of Eden do I hurt?

Why, being married, with certain men

am I tempted to flirt?”


If feelings were sounds,

Her emotions would bound

Through the midnight woods

To a solitary hill.


And there, wanting a soul mate,

From deep within her brain

She would howl the pains of a lone wolf.


She would howl incessantly, mournfully

Because something is missing,

Because Savannah often feels

The winter chill of loneliness.


© Allen Hackworth 2000


Whoa.  This poem reminds me of a joke.  A man stood before his ill-looking wife who sat on the couch.  The man’s hands, voice, and posture expressed his concern.  He said, “I know, Martha.  I too thought we were soul mates.  So you can understand my great surprise when I discovered it is really Susan in the accounting department.”