Her timeless memory
Survived her consumption
By the grace of a moment
Caught on film
While with her husband
Her arms thrown easily
Around his shoulders
His face a Mona Lisa of
Mirth, or embarrassment
Her confidence glowing
Through a visage shared with my aunts
Daring time to forget her
Ever as fashionable
As her teacups
Still held high in my home
Filigreed with warmth and colour
Unlisted
Why do I write? Perhaps in order not to go mad. Or, on the contrary, to touch the bottom of my madness. - E. Wiesel