Even after my Mother is dead,
she speaks to me.
When I was five, at a theater,
her ghost nudges me,
reminds me of a movie
about the life of Chopin,
the theme
his Opus 40, Military Polonaise.
She stories:
You were so enthralled,
refused to leave,
wanted to watch it again.
Your Grandmother and I
dragged you up the aisle,
screaming away.
Another memory rises:
Dragged from a different movie
about my first crush,
the ingenue Margaret O”Brien.
Lucky in love
with music and beauty was I.
A passionate boy.
It never left.
Originally published in The Literary Yard