Artist's Choice - Journal Viii

ARTIST’S CHOICE – JOURNAL VIII This old woman – It’s always a woman – Looking out a window Why not a man? No he’s on the front porch smoking his pipe This ancient deep in thought Looking out a summery window Is it always summer? Yes winter would be so stark It’s Whistler’s Mother with trimmings What is she thinking about, Surrounded by the past, A bible on her lap or on the table, Pictures of loved ones. a neat row on the mantle You can almost hear the rocker creak, Almost feel the afghan wrap her drooping Shoulders She’d knitted it herself once upon a time It was meant for some dear one now departed There must have been an animal once A cat is included in one picture with a potted plant alongside And there are other relics, knick knacks too numerous to mention Such a lonely aspect The verdant summer outside doesn’t brighten somehow One senses sacrifice - All her loved ones departed Leaving her alone and wretched She occupies the sacrificial room, Thinking not so much of her painful limbs But, in the face of renewal, She has been sacrificed to live out her life in a lonely cubicle In the last few I will guard my thoughts Carefully