|
|
Beyond Art
She said,
You cannot understand
what it is to be 94
and to have a daughter
with so much power; old age
is not kind to me
now that I have reached
the final analysis.
Your newly fired sculptures,
sitting as in group therapy,
crackle, even though
it's been hours since you took
them from the kiln.
They pose here in my room
making noises and appear
to stretch their arms and necks
in waking. I guess their heart
have not completely cooled.
My own heart is dying.
It would be a fine thing
to be in one of those sportscars
passing by, but I move
too slowly with my walker
and cannot even reach
my glasses. I would call you,
except that you are making
rigid pangolins and swans
and solid faces of distress.
I would not call on you for anything,
since I am turning myself
completely over to the source
of all creation.
|
|
