Her grandmother`s face
by 
Souchong
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Posted: 29 December 2004 Word Count: 48 |
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Ophelia has nothing in her pockets,
Tranquil, she oils her way downstream
with thoughts of cinnamon and oranges,
There is no poetry in her thistledown, crocheted
skin, the fine layer of dust in her hands.
Her body ripples, sinuous in the water,
reflected
she sees her grandmother's face.
Tranquil, she oils her way downstream
with thoughts of cinnamon and oranges,
There is no poetry in her thistledown, crocheted
skin, the fine layer of dust in her hands.
Her body ripples, sinuous in the water,
reflected
she sees her grandmother's face.
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joanie
