The Matriarch

1

the room of the angular Italian is

always cold

she collects afghans and plastic Madonnas

and sits in her corner

away from the window

her crown is of steel wool

her mask is a brown spattered mosaic

her lips never tire

her voice never speaks

one from her clan of dark children

waters her daily

and grips her soft blue cables

to see if she is strong enough

to pull away

the room of the angular Italian is

always cold

to preserve its relic

for the next generation

of fading

brown children

15 thoughts on “The Matriarch

    1. Thank you! And my 16 year old self thanks you. I dug this one out, typed on a piece of very yellowed paper that somehow managed to stay with me since high school. Approximately every 7 years, a person’s cells have all died and been replaced, essentially making him or her an entirely different physical entity. So it’s almost as if I never wrote this.

      Liked by 2 people

  1. This, Paul, is a masterpiece. I gobbled up each word and read it several times so I could feel it all over again. You are brilliant and my god, do I ever admire you. You should frame this and place it on your wall, because something this genius needs to be on display for all to see. Love this so, so much!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I was just thinking about the arrival of Mama Beehive yesterday. (I will still be posting more … current time crunch on getting a major shipment out to Iceland … and it is not going well.)

    Liked by 1 person

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