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Rated: E · Book · Tribute · #2210237
Broken Circle is my childhood observation of my grandmother.

In your pink bathrobe, with white lace trim, you sit
Impeccably dressed, hair done, painted nails
Stamping medical folders
Reaching for a cigarette, wrinkled hand shaking
Smoke curls, patterns dancing in the air
Face obscured
Refilling the inkwell, dipping the fountain pen
Quick to laugh but not distracted
Kettle whistles on the old stove
Poppy seed cake, undercooked
Long walks on the neighbouring hills
Rhythmic, fast paced, on the trails
Mischievous, always up for some fun
Conspirator and partner in crime
Always the tourist
Telling stories, reminiscing but not too far back
Select details only
The past stays in the past
Don’t ask questions about the old life
Too many countries, too many languages, too many places to call home
Roots ripped from the ground
Unsettled, uneasy, undone
Never fully transplanted, existing only on the surface
Barred from returning
A lifetime passes before the doors open
Welcoming, yet this is a different world
Your mind conclusive
Directed and focused
Determined to let your stories to die with you

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