| AMAZE | Lisa Janice Cohen |
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Elegy She is a child of the old century. Even she doesn't know her age, precisely. She stoops; a lifetime of memories collapsed under its own weight. Her bird bones barely strong enough to hold. Daughter, Will you open your home to me? My days draw to a close, I would not die alone. Dark eyes stare across a generation. She is seventeen. Married. The faded photo does not dim the beauty of her elfin face. They say she inherited her mother's second sight. Did she know then that one day she would bury two of her children? Daughter will you open your heart to me? I dream of endless nights, I would not mourn alone. Her great grandchildren cast their shadows across landscapes she cannot even imagine, use a language she does not speak. She longs for a rosetta stone to translate her love. Daughter will you listen to me? The telephone doesn't ring. I sing the old songs alone. A thousand miles away, my mother's voice catches on the line. My grandmother is in the hospital again. I do not need prescience to tell me what my heart already fears. Mother, I am still here. I will share your vigil, honor this journey you must make alone.
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Amaze Vol.
2, No. 1 Spring & Summer, 2003. |