Where were you Lizzie Borden?

by Melissa Allen

First published in April/May, 2008, Volume 5, Issue 2, The Hatchet: Journal of Lizzie Borden Studies.

A summer day like any other, 

Humid and soaked with unease,

Abby was under the weather,

Lizzie was troubled with “fleas.”

Uncle John went about visiting,

Dear Emma had fled the strains,

Andrew attended his business,

Bridget tossed water at panes.

The table was set with care,

For a meal no one would eat,

Miss Lizzie was, well where?

When her flats refused to heat?

Upstairs . . . no it was downstairs,

Maybe down cellar a minute or two,

But unaware of the other inmates,

As they came passing through.

A note arrived for Mrs. Borden,

Which seems penned by a ghost,

So Andrew need not have wondered,

What he should have wondered most.

Bridget, her task completed,

Went upstairs to rest awhile,

Miss Lizzie was, well where?

When a killer stalked her domicile?

In a hot dusty loft eating pears,

Looking for iron, tin, or lead,

While a maniac swung the axe,

Which left her father dead?

Miss Lizzie Borden where were you,

On this day so unlike any other?

What a wretched alibi you supplied,

For the fate of your father and mother!