Yesterday Once More |
by
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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