A Memory of Christina

by Brendan Martin

Today I heard a whispered plea,
in a rasping voice, all hoarse and rough;
it was a lady, next to me,
who appeared externally, strong and tough.

“Please”, she said, “I want my daughter,
I need her here, to bring me home.”
I gave her a glass of ice cold water,
and said her daughter was in Rome.

But she would be back, in two more days,
to bring her home, out of this place;
where we have tried, in many ways,
to put a smile upon her face.

Because, when she smiles, her heart gets lighter;
she knits and writes, and likes to read;
at ninety-three, she’s still a fighter,
with many years ahead indeed.

Homesickness can be a terrible affliction,
not for the young only, but also the old;
for them, their home, is a love addiction,
and everywhere else, is strange, and cold.