The black car slowly came
to a stop in front of our home
I was ten when she arrived
she was taken up stairs

I could see that she smiled and
quietly entered her room
looking tired from her journey
as I passed her in the hall

Then I heard the clamor
of moving furniture,
drawn out words,
nervous sighs,
and of course,
long fair wells

It was there she lived in the
corner room, top of the stairs
just to the right

According to mother, it had a
good view, you could see the park
children, the trees, and on a good day,
you could almost see the bay

What I remember most
was the stories that she told on
weekends, when I brought her lunch
she wanted me to stay at first,
I resisted, yet like all those who
feared the future, the curiosity
of the past gnawed at me

It became a hunger
that she readily filled
she wove a tale that bound
forever the past with the future

The corner room, the one
just to the right, upstairs
where on a good day
you could almost see the bay
she was away from the clamor
the rush of our busy lives

For her and for me
the transition became a reality
a visit that lasted over five years
she died when I was fifteen
I saw the white ambulance
swiftly drive away

Now that corner room, the one
just to the right, upstairs
has a different view
where on a day
I can almost see tomorrow

Sonrisa ©

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