That shift at the end hurts, Max. As the quirky details had caught.
I wonder, from our perspective, if that fifth line isn’t a bit odd (I know I can’t tell with manny any more).
Doug
On Jul 15, 2015, at 9:02 AM, Max Richards <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
> Touched
>
> Through the spacious waiting areas
> of the Cancer Institute, First Hill,
>
> came dancing a sprightly lady
> in bright cloak tunic and tights -
>
> seventy, if she was a day.
> Behind her decorously came
>
> her daughter, one guessed,
> and two granddaughters smiling
>
> back at me when I smiled.
> Grandmother was today some
>
> superwoman returned, giving
> thanks to all at the Institute.
>
> As she turned she saw my smile
> with gracious acknowledgment,
>
> made her exit with her train,
> reprieved, restored, rejuvenated?
>
> So it seemed, but her ravaged face
> stayed in my mind long after,
>
> and her strong young womenfolk.
> Touched? ’She seemed a bit…touched?’
>
> That’s what we used to say after
> some fey old thing danced by.
>
> Seattle July 2015
Douglas Barbour
[log in to unmask]
Recent publications: (With Sheila E Murphy) Continuations & Continuation 2 (UofAPress).
Recording Dates (Rubicon Press).
Done in by creation itself.
I mean the gods. Not us. Well us too.
The gods moved into books. Who wrote the books?
We wrote the books. In whose dream, then are we dreaming?
Robert Kroetsch.
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