Chanelle’s Greatest Love.

Narrative Poem.


She walks through the streets,

Her long blonde hair flows through the wind.

Market after market, she reaches the parchment store.

Tells the merchant she’s getting parchment for her Father,

Believes the man to be an old fool.


She busies through the crowded square,

Passing men.

Ignorant men.

Chanelle makes it to her front stoop

Of her high-riser flat in London.


She passes her Father;

A tall man,

Always wearing a powdered wig underneath his mud-colored hair.

A famous Aristocrat of his time,

He thinks no women should be equal as men.


Chanelle makes it to her room

And sits upon her wooden desk;

It still looks brand new

Like the day they bought it from the city Carpenter.

It’s painted an elegant cream.


She gets to work as she creates her first masterpiece,

A fantasy of hers,

Rea’s Greatest Adventure,

Where Rea meets the love of her life, Alistair.

They fall madly in love.


After months of her Father

Teaching her how to read and write,

She’s grown an intimate passion for the art of literature.

Many moons have passed

Where she’s spent countless hours reading away.


Of course, this is only allowed for it to be kept a secret.

If anyone knew of the privilege her Father was giving Chanelle,

She’d be stoned to death along side her Father.

To keep their secret safe,

Chanelle reads and writes only in her room.


Months pass,

Seasons change.

The auburn leaves stop falling,

Soon a blanket of white stills the Earth.

However, this doesn’t stop the bustling streets of London.


The New Year has rung out in cheers.

As Chanelle’s Father celebrates

With his fellow Aristocrats,

She longs to finish her story

Instead of be stuck at these trivial balls.


Alistair is becoming more detailed,

More relative to the readers,

As Chanelle writes more and more.

He has broad shoulders, light brown hair,

And emerald green jeweled eyes.


To Chanelle,

Alistair is her dream lover.

Everything she ever wished a man could be.

He is not arrogant or rude.

Nor is he ignorant and foolish.


Alistair brings hope and happiness

Everywhere he goes,

To everyone he talks to.

He believes everyone should be equal,

No matter their gender, race or ethnicity.


A poor boy, Alistair,

Is everything in her eyes,

No matter his lack of riches.

She can support them both

With the help of her Father.


After many shooting stars,

Many wishes of marriage,

True love,

And her Fairy Tale ending,

Alistair comes alive.


Freshly printed,

He steps out of her parchment.

He speaks, “I have spent many nights

Watching you write my life

As I supposedly fall in love with Rea.


“However, all this time,

I’ve been in love with you.

Your immaculate beauty,

You’re eyes the color of my skies.

You’ve brought life to my world,


And for that,

I am eternally grateful to you.

Will you marry me, Chanelle?”

Ecstatic with passion,

She accepts.


Years pass,

And seasons change rapidly.

They have many children

And grandchildren.

All healthy young lads.


Chanelle cannot be more happy

Than she is right now.

She has lived her life to the fullest

As an equal,

Thanks to the work Alistair and her Father did for London.


Sooner than she had hoped for,

Chanelle passes away

Of old age.

Stricken with grief,

Alistair weeps for her return.


Chanelle flutters open her eyelids.

A bright light shines through,

Making her glow

Like an angel.

She looks around.


The wooden desk,

Still brand new,

The cream freshly painted.

Parchment sits atop the furniture.

She gets out of bed.


Chanelle is still a young girl,

At the ripe age of sixteen.

What happened to Alistair?
What happened to her children?

And her grandchildren?


The parchment,


She flips through pages,

All blank.

No trace of Rea’s Greatest Adventures.


She walks downstairs,

Still in her nightgown.

Her Father sits in the drawing room,

A powdered wig upon his head.

He speaks of politics to another gentleman.


She slowly leaves the room.

The window shows the beginning of leaves

Changing to reds, yellows, and browns.

It is still autumn.

She is still sixteen.


Was it all just a dream?

2011 (c) Jennifer Gioia


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