miércoles, 15 de diciembre de 2010

The Swan of my Youth

 
I awoke in the middle of a summer night,
To see her resting outside my window,
Reposing on a patch of lilacs, crashed
Flowers under her sparse plumage, looking out-of-place,
And out-of-time, depleted after many summers
Of migrating between the many lakes,
Searching for food or friendship or refuge from
The ill-tempered geese.
Unfurling her long neck, she assumed the pale moon,
And conveyed her solemn song with dignity.


My mother painted a self-portrait
That now hangs in my apartment,
I am staring at that painting now,
Remembering how, in her final days,
She retreated into her room,
And held herself there--above all of nature--
Without the taint of fear.
I remember when I rushed into her room, crying
How she poised herself,
Without a single feather stirring.

No hay comentarios:

Publicar un comentario