Tranplanted from the village
 in her old age
after the upheavals
of the twentieth century
she never learned
the local language.

Bedridden her last three years,
she watched the world
from her window.
Enormous insect eyes
behind thick cataract glasses
peared at me
from her lined and dessicated face.
Old age, a different species.

Are you hungry?
she said to the young girl,
and drew up from her bosom
a dried up fig of a breast
as an offering.