…through a gauzy curtain I can see:
Grandfather dropping raisins in a saucer for tea.
Three short aunts propped on pillows to see over dahsboards as they drive to work on snowy roads.
Two women, following me to ends, crying when mothers wave, yet, following.
Her legs, legs that led to other beds, while belittling my falls.
…very easy, move towards the curtain, no need to part it, and look deep into the motion.
But curtains stain, droop on the stage, and behind them space ….
Until then look:
A young father pushes a lawnmower, a sack catching grass for chickens.
Daughters on skates, daughters on skis, daughters on snowshoes, daughters on bikes.
A coward fleeing skinhead bullies, dragging the freckled Irish woman onto a bus.
No one will clean the curtain, no one will restore the stage ….
Eugene “Gene” Novogrodsky, early December 2012