Poem: Ripped

He was a favorite among good wives

Of Hudson Valley. We’d flirt, lock eyes

At church when Dame Van Winkle—who contrived

To cause unhappiness—would stiffly rise to beautify

The Eucharist line. My heart exulted

To read his note: “Let’s run away!” Surprise!

A lady’s never been so insulted.

Such tumult when Rip’s twenty-year nap resulted.

This article appears in July 2014.