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Critical Analysis #1
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ethome
Member Patricius
since 2000-05-14
Posts 11858
New Brunswick Canada

0 posted 2001-03-18 10:11 AM



On a faded roll-a-way
she sits,
eyes ever moving,
roaming the room, searching blank walls,
blinking.

I speak
to enter her space.

After regaining a small trace of nerve
the situation begins to ease.
Proportionately,
she eventually begins to settle.

"You are truly my grandson?" she asks.
I nod,
recollecting how I'd found her.

Time wistfully wastes away,
our eyes locked.

Searching with lust,
my wandering father found my mother to fulfill his desires.

If he were here,
would he weep to see us in this rest home?

Strangers.....

I do pray the truth's discernable when she speaks.

The poet is like a cocoon; in him the caterpillar of the past finds rest, and from him the butterfly of the future emerges.

© Copyright 2001 Eric Lewis True - All Rights Reserved
Not A Poet
Member Elite
since 1999-11-03
Posts 3885
Oklahoma, USA
1 posted 2001-03-19 01:09 PM


Hello ET,

Sadly, I agree that you have painted an all too accurate portrait of a nursing home. I am aware of the deeper connotation here but that is what I see. I am dealing with that situation now so I probably can't emotionally appreciate the other.

Thanks,
Pete

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