The Old Woman
I'm leaving now, but I'm not leaving anything.
There is ground beneath my feet,
behind me the ancestors
there, somewhere
I can still walk, but only slowly
it amazes me how people hurry past.
I used to jump, from here to there
roll myself up, thin as paper
place myself on the floor, or on the wall
quiet as a silk handkerchief
slip in and through
the crowds to reach
whatever had caught my eye,
the grail, it was there
just over there.
I'm tired now, I want to be still
this land was to be temporary
and became my life
I think there is still time.
I am leaving now, but I am not leaving anything.
There is no need for me here now,
both of them have gone
somehow I let them keep me here
where the air was always too cold
the people too pale and stony faced.
So long invisible to so many,
this became my art,
few could look and see me
I had the most magnificent disguise.
I could turn into a mirror in a flash,
sometimes without thinking,
and wonder where I'd gone …
I?m leaving now, but I am leaving nothing
everything's been passed on or burnt.
Here inside my skull is all that's worth keeping
polished by remembering,
my memories have kept me warm.
After all these years of living
with teenagers who stone their holy men,
in a land of locked churches.
I will not hold the memory
of this street in my bones
of dirt, noise and closed doors
from which closed face people emerge.
I will be lighter once I cross the water.
I am leaving now, but I am not leaving anything
you can scatter me to each of the four directions.
In amongst the dust will be bits of coloured glass and stone
the grounds left after swallowing and digesting,
the parts that didn?t pass through,
the stones I couldn?t throw back.
Here is the one labelled 'blackie'
here, the bit of rope I tried to slip
but somehow always kept hold of my foot
I am leaving now, but I'm not leaving anything
Page(s) 124-125
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