May 2019
Her thoughts, gathered on the in-breath, are misplaced on the out-.
As her memories float free of their moorings, ninety summers fill the late-afternoon room with a kaleidoscope of people and places: a young girl in a home-made dress plays tag with her brother in a Provençal orchard; a dark-haired teenager waits at a station fiddling with the yellow star pinned to her cardigan; a Milanese tailor embroiders freshwater pearls onto a snow white wedding bodice; and - over by the window - a dashing young cavalry officer, with eyes which reflect my own, stands in the shade of a blue jacaranda.
‘J'ai oublié,’ she whispers as I nuzzle her cheek goodbye.
You may have forgotten, Bubbe, but I have not the stories you have told me.
As her memories float free of their moorings, ninety summers fill the late-afternoon room with a kaleidoscope of people and places: a young girl in a home-made dress plays tag with her brother in a Provençal orchard; a dark-haired teenager waits at a station fiddling with the yellow star pinned to her cardigan; a Milanese tailor embroiders freshwater pearls onto a snow white wedding bodice; and - over by the window - a dashing young cavalry officer, with eyes which reflect my own, stands in the shade of a blue jacaranda.
‘J'ai oublié,’ she whispers as I nuzzle her cheek goodbye.
You may have forgotten, Bubbe, but I have not the stories you have told me.
‘We are a kaleidoscope of complicated intricacies. A million different facets of light and darkness.’
- K. M. Keeton
- K. M. Keeton
