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Our Corners of Home
Under dated culture of times familiar,
she resides.
Knees to chest as memory to breast,
she pays homage to this new world
from the confines of her own.
The curves in her skin define a wealth
that is ineffable in its worth.
And yet
she sits alone
enclosed in the shade of the times she shared.
Gazing.
Her dulling eyes study me uncertain.
A foreigner,
coloured of which has brought naught but pain.
Yet she is tired.
Her body is wrought by her sightings in her age,
and so she smiles.
She is at peace with her country contorted,
but happily watches afar.
This space will warm her reminiscent mind
as her months are spent in hours,
watching.
