CORNELIA GALE
She made special cakes. I remember those.
Not just their sweetness, or the way that you
Could smell them from across the house—the dark
Aroma of frosting, the scent that rose
From the baked flour--but something else too.
The thrill of them: the way I almost marked
How sweet they’d be, how good they’d taste by how
Nice they looked on their plate. That joy I’d had
As I held my fork, just before I ate
That first bite... There’s nothing joyous here now.
I feel no joy anymore. Only bad.
All I do is remember things. First hate.
Then cakes. Then panic. Then laughter. And then,
Nothing at all. Again. Again. Again.
Juleigh reads "Cornelia Gale":
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Juleigh confesses: "Over 150 years ago, Chloe Woodruff boiled oleander leaves, then poured the poisonous liquid into a bowl of batter which she baked into cakes and served to the daughters of her master, Mr. Gale. They died. The ghost of one of these girls still haunts Myrtles Plantation, Louisiana."
An English ex-pat, JULEIGH HOWARD-HOBSON's poetry has appeared in Third Wednesday, Valparaiso Poetry Review, The Lyric, Able Muse, Poem, Revised (Marion Street Press), and many other places. Nominations include “Best of the Net”, The Pushcart Prize and The Rhysling Award. Her most recent book is Our Otherworld (Red Salon).
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