Luella Bufkin 1872- 1891

Luella Bufkin 1872 – 1891 Do you remember me? Does anyone remember the Bufkin girl of Comstock Street? I was the girl who read her Bible every Sunday In the forgiving shade of my father’s Elm Tree.. Maybe not. Because I died young… way too young. And I was a smart pretty girl too. No one ever knew I spent many waking moments alone. Alone and staring into the parlor room mirror Staring into my own blue eyes; Imagining they were the eyes of my galloping Knight. Eyes I had hoped to use In capturing the “devil” by his tail. I knew how to cook and sew And clean house and milk the cow. I made the butter and the bread And my mother always said ”Now Luella, don’t forget to add the yeast.” I cleaned and scrubbed and scoured And even cut the firewood on occasion. It was all I knew; My life with rags and strong soaps; One continuing, unending back-breaking episode Of hardwood chores And ever-growing laundry piles. And it was a brief, Oh so painfully brief life, Of cleaning, praying and… dreaming. I wanted to go into nursing And find a suitable man to be my Noble Squire. But my kidneys flamed up and I started to pee blood. Come to my lonely grave sometime, my friend. I’m off in the corner here. Forgotten and covered in the ivy. I lie here in my casket in the dark Please visit me here in the shadows, So I can hear you breathing.