A LITTLE

A little tea and I am dozing on a strange cushion.

With the stench of dry tears and wine

What brought me here?

I remember the fading memory of my daughter.

I held her warm face and kissed her hair.

She was soft on the lips but dark with fear.

She faces demons on the mountain, she is a surgeon.

She is a girl with the face of a woman.

I am forgetting names, I am erasing dates.

A little poetry and I am recalling my first love.

And the love letters stricken with tears and lipstick.

His name was Kita and he went wild with the drugs.

A little prayer and I am crying in folds, hot tears on my cheek.

Is it old age or failure?

My son is laughing with the wife of his youth.

And my voice is too feeble to shout.

I remember my songs of mirth and how I danced with pride.

Now, My legs swell with water.

My son was right, I should be breathing prayers

On the heads of my grandchildren.

But I’m writing a wailing poem.

Is it old age or failure?