Heady as Spanish champagne, the
A falling fir cone hits my shoulder
reminding me of picnics in Andalusia.
You always wore strappy glitzy
killer heels when driving those
Film star glamour, whooshy skirts
jangly earrings, carmine reddened
Christmas envelopes for me spilled
bangles, a necklace of coloured
…and the American dresses,
all sequins, lace,
shimmering petticoats to fuel
fancies of rocking rolling and
Your hands that last time shocked
Your hands, (nails once cherry-varnished)
now skeletal, barely covered
by a gauze of flesh.
I never knew a hand held so
many tiny bones.
From your window we watch bulldozers
shudder the foundations of an
in favour of underground parking
No locals chatter in the Plaza
or seek their shade
beneath orange trees smoked
in yellow dust.
Unable to lift a glass of water,
once bubbled with champagne
you lie, ankles splintery as
dried pine needles.
Copyright © 2004