I heard a story about a woman who used to live at the end of the village.
No one walked near her house or visited her.
People thought she was bad, didn't like to talk, weird and strange.
She was left alone until a few kids, hiding from rain, ran to her home.
The strange woman was very nice, made dinner and dried their clothes.
When mothers went to say thank you all they could see very nice, clean home and a picture of a very beautiful woman on the wall.
Who is she?
Oh, that was me, long time ago of course.
I was beautiful, worked well, my pictures were taken for city newspaper and someone got jealous.
Another woman's husband liked me a lot, he wouldn't let me go to work, go home, waiting near this tree, he was everywhere.
His wife was mad, she made people to believe that I was a witch.
Some believed, some didn't, but tried to ignore me.
I was young, not brave enough, accepted, all the years went by, I never dressed up, covered from head to toe, living at home...
It's not your fault, - the mothers said.
I know... take this candies...
Poems,stories and pictures by Irina Mouravleva.
