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flat
on her back she looks up at me
moves in a manner that defies the physical laws of
gravity and aging
defies the gravity of her situation too bedridden as
she is
feet thick and bent awkwardly at the ankle unable to
support her body
brittle and already broken mended in ways that jut
through the skin
a bruise yellowing on her forehead like ripening fruit
she grins and flicks her hips with a lightness of
another time
the years slide into each other defying linear
progression
and the old lady is a young woman who doesn’t for a
second
doubt her feet dances in variety shows entertaining
the troops
her sister twirling the baton tossing it into the air
always catching it
never faltering leading the parade when the war is
finally over
they can’t take that away from me
she croons on the stage of her own bed
dances under the sheets with that easy grace
of gene kelly ginger rogers fred astaire buddy ebsen
her own father too a vaudeville man
tap tap tapping across the stage
what are you thinking, i ask later having lifted her
into the car
buckled her into the seat beside me we drive along the
St. Lawrence
where she grew up where she once swam all the way
across to the USA
a favourite story when i was little and dreamed
of such feats myself marveled that she could swim
there
hero-worshipped her in that way of young daughters
she stares off and i wonder if she has slipped
into the places of senility not really expecting an
answer to my words
i was thinking, she says slowly measured words
measured thought
how the river never changes although everything around
it does
i was thinking about the shoreline
how it bends how it curves |
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