" Elegy "
She is a child of the old century. Even she doesn't know her age, precisely. She stoops; a lifetime of memories collapsed under its own weight. Her bird bones barely strong enough to hold.
Daughter,
will you open
your home to me? My days
draw to a close, I would not die
alone.
Dark eyes stare across a generation. She is seventeen. Married. The
faded photo does not dim the beauty of her elfin face. They say she inherited her mother's second sight. Did she know then that one day she would bury two of her children?
Daughter,
will you open
your heart to me? I dream
of endless nights, I would not mourn
alone.
Her great grandchildren cast their shadows across landscapes she cannot even imagine, use a language she does not speak. She longs for a rosetta stone to translate her love.
Daughter,
will you listen
to me? The telephone
doesn't ring, I sing the old songs
alone.
A thousand miles away, my mother's voice catches on the line. My grandmother is in the hospital again. I do not need prescience to tell me what my heart already fears.
Mother,
I am still here.
I will share your vigil,
honor the journey you must make
alone.
© 2002 Lisa Janice Cohen
|
|
