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Du
A wisp of old woman,
curved like a scythe,
tottered to me as she
fussed her shopping,
her walking stick hooked
on her chopstick wrist.
She spoke to me then
in a dried leaf voice.
Inaudible there
in that busy street,
swept by rude gales
from passing trucks.
I leaned closer to hear:
Mein eyes not gut.
time for bus, ven comes it?
“Which bus do you want?”
She smiled, shook her head
then sang to herself
and somebody else,
in — not German. Yiddish?
“Which bus?”
She leaned towards me,
her tiny claw reached
to stroke my face.
Du she said.
Du
“Du” is published by Web del Sol
curved like a scythe,
tottered to me as she
fussed her shopping,
her walking stick hooked
on her chopstick wrist.
She spoke to me then
in a dried leaf voice.
Inaudible there
in that busy street,
swept by rude gales
from passing trucks.
I leaned closer to hear:
Mein eyes not gut.
time for bus, ven comes it?
“Which bus do you want?”
She smiled, shook her head
then sang to herself
and somebody else,
in — not German. Yiddish?
“Which bus?”
She leaned towards me,
her tiny claw reached
to stroke my face.
Du she said.
Du
“Du” is published by Web del Sol