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Yesterday Once More |
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In one photo
beside the aging Nash,
Amos dreams Bogey--
Edna, dark-haired Bergman,
dark coat collared in mink
lean girl-legs rise
above mink-topped boots
beautiful starry-eyed child-bride.
Behind, a weathered barn
breeding stock securely stabled.
A vision of romance
bound in silver bromide crystals
one lifetime ago.
In this silent room on the fifth floor
of the Sacred Heart Home
birthday cards she cannot read
--from three of her eighteen children
two likely handmade by grandchildren who never
knew her,
one from a computer in Veteran's Affairs--
rosaries bind the Virgin Mary's arms
she stands bejewelled in decanded chains
card-covered dresser her cluttered grotto
facing Edna with ice-blue plaster orbs.
Edna's fading eyes move furtively
a shiver runs the slope of her soft remains
denies the woolen layers on her bed
mouth makes silent pantomime of speech.
They prop her in her Lay-Z-boy
push Junior Peas through useless lips
give dull-witted answers to dull-witted questions
fill the holes in the empty air.
My eyes seek out the photo
she with Amos so young and full of hope
in her cinematographic youth
dream that I can bend time
rescue her from that snapshot
alive and blissful
and not a moment too soon.
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