Raymond A. Foss Poems

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She was walking on the sidewalk
just around the corner from home,
from her place here is the city
so much a woman of her place
her piece of history, in the old country
She was of that greatest generation
if that is what they call it in Budapest,
or Warsaw, or Moskva.
Scarf pulled tight against the familiar wind
apron tied, over the heavy dress
head down, watching her steps
thick sturdy shoes, a shuffling gait
an old worn coat
Living in the neighborhood
within the bubble of family and language

November 1, 2007 1:17pm

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