Tuesday Poem: Previously published by Calyx in 1987

Painting by Francien Krieg

 

Linda

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.