A Spinster's Cry

I would rather have a ghost

Sing a ghostly song

At least, I will have his company.

Dressed in this cursed spinster's silk,

I look like a carved saint.


They say I may be better off a nun,

At least I can be the handmaiden of Jesus.

Better than making faces with my old dog,

My singing parrot and my crossed-eyed cat.


They say I look like a cracked vase

Not paired

Like a lost soul drifting at midnight

Under a waning moon.

And if I die old,

No one will cry

Sincere cries of truthful sorrow

At my funeral


But I will remain a spinster,

Even if I hope it would not be so.

I hardly have anything left

Besides a puzzle,

A sneer and a do-not-care.



In year 2000 when I visited home, at dinner table, my family and relatives made fun of me, and my little nephews called me spinster auntie, it really hurt, but I never said anything…