THE MIRROR
Posted: May 27th, 2011, 10:34 am
There are many beautiful old townhouses from the 1900’s and before in Buenos Aires which are torn down to make way for seven or more stories of apartment buildings. I see them in my neighborhood as I go about my daily business, and they always touch my heart. This last one inspired the following poem.
Sue
THE MIRROR
The men work at their task of demolition
behind the mask of high wooden barriers.
The broken bricks and other debris
are accompanied by a fine dust
that floats in the air
like delicate apparitions
from the turn of the century.
Now there is only naked space
where before
stood a noble old family house, three stories high,
The barriers, nearly always closed,
were left open today,
and through the narrow aperture
I could see, mapped on the walls
of the surrounding buildings
the ghosts of high ceilings, ample bedrooms.
Toward the front, in what was once the second floor,
set in a molded plaster frame,
a huge mirror, impossible to remove
without shattering.
A mirror! How many faces, figures, laughter and tears
are locked in the magic memory
of that cracked glass,
starred by a blow,
but still entire, elegant?
Poor Mirror, prisoner of its ruin,
its graceful French salon vanished,
hanging two floors
above nothingness!
Sue
THE MIRROR
The men work at their task of demolition
behind the mask of high wooden barriers.
The broken bricks and other debris
are accompanied by a fine dust
that floats in the air
like delicate apparitions
from the turn of the century.
Now there is only naked space
where before
stood a noble old family house, three stories high,
The barriers, nearly always closed,
were left open today,
and through the narrow aperture
I could see, mapped on the walls
of the surrounding buildings
the ghosts of high ceilings, ample bedrooms.
Toward the front, in what was once the second floor,
set in a molded plaster frame,
a huge mirror, impossible to remove
without shattering.
A mirror! How many faces, figures, laughter and tears
are locked in the magic memory
of that cracked glass,
starred by a blow,
but still entire, elegant?
Poor Mirror, prisoner of its ruin,
its graceful French salon vanished,
hanging two floors
above nothingness!
thx, Sue.
, so beautiful poem, gracias for sharing it !!!!