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Grey Sparrow Journal

Issue 30, July 31, 2017
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82 and Cloudy


 

From deep inside she would disclaim that she who bore me knows me not.

Her recollections faint and frayed are paint for dreams and silent smiles.

 

The graying eyes and sorry stare suggest an inner darkened void.

A complex life reduced and gone, now functions, food, and sleep.

 

We contemplate her suspect mind and track her slow decline.

What does she think and feel and love, what pathways fire synaptic light?

 

Beneath her wounded rivers flow, past clots like silt in urban streams,

Past random dams that can’t disrupt the memories recorded.

 

We see the nod and up-turned lip, a hand is squeezed and then released.

We leave her seated on the porch and know she feels the morning sun.  

 

     —Andrew F. Popper