May 28, 2010
drawing by Slobodan Dan Paich and text by Moira Roth
For hours she slowly turned the pages,
Back and forth,
Accompanied by memories of reading it as a child
Blended with memories of her uncle
–his strong Irish accent, his infectious laugh, his endless tale-telling.
Finally she turned to the last page,
–seemingly far away from the image of the first one
with its miniature castle precarious balanced on a branch–
To see a sinking jagged iceberg
But perhaps it was only
That the stone and wood had turned to ice
Which was now melting away?
