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Folly Cove

 

Mrs. Starr

Mrs. Starr was a painter
before
her body betrayed her.
Now her vision hangs on museum walls.
When she greets me at the door, she'll pause
to feel my face.
Long, arthritic fingers
linger...trace…
forehead,
cheekbones,
chin.

(She leads me to her drawing room.)

"Do tell me about your trip," she urges, excitedly.
And as I set the scene,
she sips her tea, attentively,
and strokes a green-eyed cat
that's curled up in her lap.

"Marcel Proust said that the real voyage of discovery
lies not in seeing new landscapes, but
in having new eyes," I sum up,
story ended.

"New eyes!" she marvels...sighs...
her teacup
suspended
sip enroute to lips.


 
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