This is a poem I wrote following Margo Roby’s Tuesday Tryout prompt. The old lady in question is a neighbour. She is very old, has difficulty walking, can barely see, and doesn’t speak a word of anything but Spanish. She’s also incredibly cheery, and Manolito hardly ever comes to see her.
p.s. From now on, I’m not going to cite the references to public domain artwork since all the info is in the picture—just click on it.
Knotty, brown, old Spanish lady hands,
Have white bone beneath the skin.
Curled around the knuckle-smooth knob,
A bony bird grip clenched,
Stick jabs the recalcitrant roadway.
Behind the cataracted eyes,
Narrow white streets curve, and harsh sun beats,
While children dart from light to shade.
Is Manolito visiting today?
Market, she calls. I need potatoes.
Manolito likes Serrano best.
Her smile, beatific, gap-toothed.
Beer and café friends forgotten,
Runs, a spoilt child,
Round the curved white street of an Andalusian dream,
Lost in the harsh sun, and the mists of time.