Fragments of pictures, shreds of conversations:
The small, wood-paneled kitchen;
Stuck in the corner,
The black and white tv with its soft sound
Of a low monotonous voice-over;
At the kitchen table, her hands working
Quickly and effortlessly on the dough;
She comments on the news, the weather,
on life.
Outside, the world looks bland,
oozing a sense of nothingness.
Inside, I’m trying to draw a portrait
of the woman who taught me strength and vulnerability.
Jadzia died in February.