Читать книгу Word Simple - Harold J. Recinos - Страница 10

every night she sat

at the kitchen table

eating bread, her old age

telling me not to close

the door, and listen to her

closely for truth. she was

like a book checked out of

an old library before my eyes

with a soul deeper than a

city beggar’s cup. we sat

quietly at the table listening

to the wind howl outside the

window, the radiator talking in

the cold space like it was reading

a Charles Dickens’ novel. then,

in silence beyond help, the elderly

woman told me she dreamed her

teen son alive again in the apartment

saying to her, “mother.” I remember

that night so clearly, we looked at old

photographs that adored hearing her

speak, images frozen in time, with

sounds of crying and laughter roaming

in the old ladies heart. that night, I

pleaded to God above let this woman

know sweet love and everlasting

peace.