Dumbling Poem by Anne Higgins

Dumbling,
the youngest,
pursued by the pond,

grew up waiting for someone
to do things for her,
grew up smiling
with a whine in her voice.
Never lost her high little girl laugh,
a titter, helpless shrug of the shoulders
cover the mouth with the hand
cajoling
I can't get this computer to work…
I can't open this bottle…

The older ones wanting
to throw her into the cistern,
the damned dreamer,
wearer of the multicolored cloak.