Judith of the Lace Parasol

                 

                     Judit with the lace parasol

                    walked her dog by the creek

                    asked if I was an artist,

                    my dough encrusted fingers

                    mistaken for clay--- for her gaffe

                    received a cup of tea and a loaf of bread.

                    She seemed like a good soul,

                    at ease in her body

                   no small feat at this age.

                   She adopted a ten year old dog probably

                   closer to thirteen, but didn’t seem to mind.

                  She came to my house and upon my

                   bully‘s  bark uttered a grandiose

                 “et tu Brutus” clearly intended for my ears

                  I invited her to our 4th of July,

                  a Hungarian to my Russian.

                  enemies in a new land at least   

                   recognise each other          

                  I’m  weary of new friendships

                  having barely survived the old.

                  So when she left I was somewhat pained

                  but ever so relieved.

                  I pondered about it some days and wondered

                  if she thought that I compromised to have the

                   life I did or perhaps envied it or both?

                   All to the  good, relationships

                    have an addictive underpinning,

                    and my solitude a reliable friend.

                    But as I said before,  she was a good soul.

                    Judit of the lace parasol.

                                                                                                                                         Antonia Baranov