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Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 4656 Registered: 11-1998 |
Poem of the Week Du Janet Kenny A wisp of old woman, curved like a scythe, tottered to me as she fussed her shopping, her walking stick hooked on her chopstick wrist. She spoke to me then in a dried leaf voice. Inaudible there in that busy street, swept by rude gales from passing trucks. I leaned closer to hear: Mein eyes not gut. time for bus, ven comes it? “Which bus do you want?” She smiled, shook her head, then sang to herself and somebody else in – not German. Yiddish? “Which bus?” She leaned towards me, her tiny claw reached to stroke my face. Du, she said. Du. |
