Milk curdles in her jar, <br />mould forms on her black bread. <br />She’s come so very far, <br />but her blue Polish eyes <br />no longer see the flies <br />buzzing above her head. <br /> <br />She does not hear her friend <br />knocking at the door. <br />This is her journey’s end, <br />the faithful silly dear. <br />Christ does not shed a tear, <br />not for the meek and poor. <br /> <br />He looks down from the wall, <br />with both arms open, heart <br />sacred, eyes blind to all, <br />truly not of this world. <br />He does not see her curled- <br />up broken flesh depart, <br /> <br />resurrected by <br />the hour towards the skies. <br />He won’t feed her a lie, <br />nor redeem a bone. <br />He will leave her alone <br />in the kingdom where she lies.<br /><br />Leo Yankevich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/babcia/
