August 20, 2012

Safari hooded, turbaned lady,
Malena Dietrich
of the celluloid tropics,
proficient in fans
and burlesque bonkers-ness,
sunglasses like Hepburn
and Bardot and Monroe,
your Hungarian accent
on audio cassette tape,
the message to your first born
on the occasion of his wedding day,
as you regrettably, could not be there.
Grandma, held up in Singapore,
Grandma, hostaged conversion,
detained at an airport,
the amoeba of immigration
controlling the border
as you melt from the rabbis
into the arms of the
Priests and the Bishops,
Grandma, your child held up
by an African nanny,
Grandma, your mind held up
by an endless attorney,
tick-tock, tick-tock,
Rochester’s Attic is only a room,
wallpaper yellowed against the gloom –
Grandma, I love you
though all I recall
is your cut glass whiskey
and arthritic fists
against a door,
how the mighty have fallen;
your anorexic arms,
your skeletal frame,
the wisp of your hair,
Miss Havisham’s veil;
like a ghost in the room,
like a wave from the moon –
all my tattoos
say hello to you
and this, like a prayer
in invisible ink.

2 Responses to “Grandma”

  1. henderson said

    i love this lydia.h

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