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The Ravenesse of Manhattan
- for MCL
-
- Hair blue-black now tinged grey
- lithe figure bathed in familiar noise
- Pools of mirth light upon weary features
- and she laughs.
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- Peach-coloured delicate flower
- budding in the harsh warmth and curious smells
- of the old dutchtown she loves, mari et chats
- the perfect Corybantic to her gentle madness.
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- She says: 'You're not a fool,
- despite some foolish choices.
- I suffer fools all the same, though they be
- Unlike me: oh yes. Unlike me.' She says:
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- 'You give too much, it's a calculus of waste;
- I surrender only when it seems the best that I can do.'
- And you were right and I was wrong
- and I was wrong and you were right.
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- I say: 'How would you like the place of honour
- right up on the door of my fridge?
- I'll tell Lexi and John that you're their aunt:
- Toi, tu es mieux que leur mère ou
tante justement.'
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- And later down the line I can hear
- Irish eyes laughing at me
- Mirthful gales of glee neverending
- and she laughs.
(June, 2003)
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