Bio Note: “Aunt Eudora”—who is an entirely fictitious character—represents my very first attempt at a formal poem that could be called subversive. Although the lady’s behavior is hardly shocking, she neatly broke the ice for me, bless her, and since her initial incarnation, I think I can say that my sonnets have grown more interesting. Not dirty, exactly, and not necessarily erotic, either, because they don’t take themselves very seriously. But ever since “Aunt Eudora’s Harlequin Romance,” they’ve become a whole lot more fun to write. Maybe more fun to read, as well.
Aunt Eudora’s Harlequin Romance
She turns the bedlamp on. The book falls open in her mottled hands, and while she reads her mouth begins to quiver, forming words like Breathless. Promises. Elope. As she turns the leaves, Eudora’s cheek takes on a bit of bloom. Her frowzy hair thickens and turns gold, her dim eyes clear, the wattles vanish from her slender neck. Her waist, emerging from its ring of flesh, bends to the side. Breasts that used to hang like pockets rise and ripen; her long legs tremble. Her eyes close, she holds her breath— the steamy pages flutter by, unread, as lover after lover finds her bed.
©2020 Marilyn Taylor
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