Mamica had read the following poem years ago and came back to it occasionally




When poring over

the yellowed photograph

of a radiant and beautiful woman,

bringing it to your lips,

you play the alchemists,

changing its musty odor

into the heady fragrance

of a tropical flower …

When you close your eyes and see

the youngish looking man on her right,

bearing your features,

with that indefinable stare

which could be mistaken

for a smile …

You wish you were never born

to the most desirable

of aIl madonnas,

for you know

that she wouldn’t have allowed you

to waste your breath

or let your heart become

the seat of infinite oppression

You then flip the pages of the album

and consider the portrait

of that same woman

 posing before your lense

half a century later

She is still handsome

and in her grayish-green eyes

you read so much wisdom

 it burns your chest

like the most lethal of poisons,

Then again,

you wish you were never born

 to a madonna

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