There is nothing like father-son bonding
over car washing on Saturday afternoon—
even if rendered futile by the torrential rain—
on the long list of childhood gaieties we’ll try
to forget for the rest of our lives.
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
You know you are old
when your late-in-life children become adults
and you no longer draw the curtains
like the swords your forefathers drew
in all the new—for them, at least—lands.
Now you can simply find some well-deserved rest
in the inherited armchair
or tomb.
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
If only I had been heartless
and thus never born,
perhaps the photographer would never have taken pictures
of the funeral procession my parents’ wedding was.
I always wondered where those grim faces came from
until one day one of the photos fell out of the album,
and I saw the date written on the back—a quick calculation explained everything.
After all, casarse de penalty, as the Spanish call it, is no cause for celebration,
and that’s about all I know
about love.
Time flies when you’re having fun, or so they say,
but to be honest, I can’t really call my life fun-filled,
yet five decades have flown by in the blink of an eye
without me even noticing, and now I’m staring
at a white-bearded face looking back from the mirror
and wondering what was the point in laughing
at that kid who thought fifty years was a long time
when I probably have twenty or thirty more to go
and can’t even imagine making it through a week
of family Christmas gatherings.
Saturday was a special day—a bath day for Sunday.
We stood by the washtub placed next to the well,
watching our mother pour hot water from the cauldron
and then add cold well water, stirring to obtain the right temperature.
Then she would take each of us in turn and bathe thoroughly
from head to toe with quick moves and without fuss,
dry with a towel, and help get dressed.
I don’t really remember that. It’s just one
of the very few stories from back then that she ever told us.
Saturday was a special day—the day I’d like to believe
we felt like family.
hidden pilcrow 