Jan 8
My Joanna ( for my granny)
I follow the black holes of my memory,
hear distant echoes
that are beyound the reach,
see endless pictures.
You were so alive
that you are still
sitting on the kitchen chair
wearing you black beret and red lipstick,
your red fringe tendrils come from under your head piece.
You are still
smiling telling me stories of your numerous lovers,
of your childhood
when boys used to call you Joan of Arc
as you were free and brave.
You still are
In my heart
that is still
alive
and still
doesn't forget
your strong and living spirit,
my Joanna.
You wave your hand and give me a wink.
Vast fields in my mind.
Late autumn.
But who am I?
I fall in tall grass and disappear.
