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Poem
O!
Same place, same time
morning chill and cracks of sun
curled in dark doorway
her shape, her pulse same line
Same doorway she calls her home
‘tween supplements west and bath bombs east
colours waft and mingle, stenches wrap
early morning baking under all
Breathing rasping cocoon of red cloth
silent breaths thru curved teeth
flicking thoughts, cloudlike slip ear to ear
passing dreams, rapid cut, endless loop of mind-time
Passerby reaching for weekly rag
apologizing for disturbance of space, time, home
an eyebrow, then eye appears from behind red blanket
a smile, a nod a thankful warm cackle
he, he he...wee, hee, wee, he he
Her name is Mrs. Moore I’m told,
I heard I think, Mrs. Moore
someone said, in passing by the passers-by
Mrs. Moore, her name in whispers
shuttered glances, skipping stares,
Mrs. Moore she is, or was...
Used to be a banker, I’m told
they say a banker, and turn away
passers-by rumoring, a banker once
“I think she was, oh yes a banker”,
wrinkled granny memories past
so crystal clear - Mrs. Moore, the banker
Same words tumble, passing thoughts
mouth to ear and then disappear
“banker, yes I was a banker”
Granny soothes, knowing glance
“let her sleep, let her rest poor soul”,
granny canes on by, leaving soul of Moore behind,
breathing, muttering, mound ‘O red,
enwrapped, ensconced, installed
“she was a banker, oh we remember, a banker yes”
whispers fly, “she had it all” ,
and now all she has is her old, stained, wrinkled, damp,
red... blanket
Passers-by ignoring ball of red,
Moore ignoring them, ignoring all
All ignoring her, and she, all
Ignoring cars swishing by,
buses ignoring, filled with ignoring seated sheep
all ignoring ; this building to huge, symphonic, cacophony
of... ignorance
Tucked away, back inside
shadows fade, sun too bright, cold too sharp
Within red shroud, Mrs. Moore in ray of light
smile upon her nodding face
dreams so free and light and white
dreams of heaven, clouds and light
flocks of doves flying higher higher
paper trails stretching far behind, reaching limits towards the sun
Light, airy, free of pain and damp
free of cars, of banks, of brooms and buses
of passers-by,
free of whispers
free of nods
of clucking grannies, daughters stares,
of candy babies, sticky dads.
No meaning, Mrs. Moore,
but free and light
no breath, but air...
peace...
rest....
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