The Gift That on Most Days She Hasn’t Forgotten
4/3/16
As she continues to translate the prayer
From Polish to English
One of the ones her father taught her
In his slow and deliberate way
My mind is not with her.
Neither knowing Polish or the lord,
I use the long time as she closes her eyes,
Envisions each line that on most days she cannot remember,
And tries to translate and not loose anything,
To write.
As minutes slip by I go from writing about her
To writing about other things
Back to writing about her
Yet I know I will soon need to interrupt it all to give her her 2:00.
Sometimes she distracts me from my distraction
With the way she is quietly but intensely repeating mumbled Polish then
Shooting open her eyes when the close to right English words come to her.
This is the gift she still has from her father
And I watch as she tilts her head back to think
And forward to tell.