[poem temporarily removed by author]

 

In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

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  1. THE PORTRAIT

    My endlessly tattling nieta asks:
    “Who is that old woman on the wall, abuelo?
    Why does she follow me wherever I go?”

    I have always meant to dust it off,
    this picture on the wall: a patrician pose,
    an arching neck, a hint of a shy smile.

    “No one you know. But sing me another song,
    that one about a new song unto the world.
    How does that go again? Sing a new song.”

    “Her eyes are sad, and they always follow me.
    Why does she do that, abuelo. Is she lonely?
    And she has a funny-looking dress. Tra-la, lala.”

    But that was another time. Another world.
    At sundown I look into those eyes, and I go there,
    beside her, and sing old songs. O, the old songs!

    The late spring wind ruffles the gossamer curtains
    that brush against the jangling chime bells: outside
    the wind has no regard for our little nostalgias.

    —Albert B. Casuga
    04-22-11

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