of course The Last Supper by Leonardo da Vinci was for me that room with painting replicas printed on paper inside mother’s dowry house/ my grandparents raised buffaloes pigs horses and different chickens but they did not have yet a tv set in that room/ they still wore their old times folklore costumes on Sundays and on holidays/ on the road between my yesterday’s and my today’s eyes/ the masters’ paintings turned me back home after many years/ when I started to read art history and the past was like a museum/ mother this is your daughter/ the one who prefers now Fra Filippo Lippi and Pierro della Francesca/ the one who found by herself the mystery of The Flagellation of Christ before reading renowned critics’ opinions about it/ mother there are dark mists in your eyes/ look at me and please remember those icons and Easter postcards smeared with candle wax/ the icons that cry tears/ pearls of color layer after layer/ the icons with hieratic gestures from the times when you used to say how masterly are their hands painted/ you with your long fingers just like mine/ you who let gliding between us memories about future that you forgot afterwards/ the way the river flows in its bed and all the other rivers sewn on peasants’ shirts/ leave aside the flagellation of Christ mom/ let’s think together about your cheesecake spread with egg yolks and well colored up and maybe we will save some money for you to bake it at Easter time

Categories: My Poems in 2015, Uncategorized | Tags: | Leave a comment

Post navigation

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.