Scila 12.12.72

Renaissance portraits reborn,Old World

country vines threaded with cobwebs,

greens and reds in rich dense abandon.

We saw the farm where mum used to live-

old and miserable.

Paupers played in muddied ruins.

She cried for memories never to be regained and the day cried with her.

The town house creaked with brittle bones dampness fostering fungus.

Relentless wind blowing icy through empty rooms.

By chance we saw a woman friend of long ago – crippled and long forgot.

She clung to my mother for living lost dreams and begged a return.

Her senility almost upon her – waiting helplessly for death.

 

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