Tuesday, March 27, 2012

Tuesday Poem: Previously published by Calyx in 1987

Painting by Francien Krieg



As I passed the door of her room,
I had to rub my eyes.

Her pink nipples and pale 
rise of china breasts
looked new as a young girl's
beneath the wrinkles of her face.

Old age rustled like wind on sand
in the Swancott Home for Ladies,
and she reclined oblivious,
an odalisque on a narrow bed
in coral and porcelain autumn light.

A gift of late blooming roses,
ashimmer over shifting dunes.
A mirage? No, an oasis in this 
barren, stoop-shouldered place.

1 comment:

Helen McKinlay said...

Beautiful imagery in this poem Eileen..it's amazing what lies beneath wrinkly faces :-) Lovely ending too. Helen McK