And they flood in
even now
with you
mired in middle age.
Addressing you in dreams
the exchange of bold invective
your passivity never allowed.
The one thing
you should have said
lost in the ether.
And the players
are now castoffs,
with bit parts,
stooped King Lears
with age spots-
the despotic maternal diva
with her withering song
now a mere whimper
and it won't be long.
My memories as an immigrant professional woman in Ottawa, Canada 47 years ago. A new life after having survived the liberal war of a new country Bangladesh on December 16, 1971.
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