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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=342363" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>To Aunt Rose</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Aunt Rose—now—might I see you <br>with your thin face and buck tooth smile and pain <br>of rheumatism—and a long black heavy shoe <br>for your bony left leg <br>limping down the long hall in Newark on the running carpet <br>past the black grand piano <br>in the day room <br>where the parties were <br>and I sang Spanish loyalist songs <br>in a high squeaky voice <br>(hysterical) the committee listening <br>while you limped around the room <br>collected the money— <br>Aunt Honey, Uncle Sam, a stranger with a cloth arm <br>in his pocket <br>and huge young bald head <br>of Abraham Lincoln Brigade </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>—your long sad face <br>your tears of sexual frustration <br>(what smothered sobs and bony hips <br>under the pillows of Osborne Terrace) <br>—the time I stood on the toilet seat naked <br>and you powdered my thighs with calamine <br>against the poison ivy—my tender <br>and shamed first black curled hairs <br>what were you thinking in secret heart then <br>knowing me a man already— <br>and I an ignorant girl of family silence on the thin pedestal <br>of my legs in the bathroom—Museum of Newark. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Aunt Rose <br>Hitler is dead, Hitler is in Eternity; Hitler is with <br>Tamburlane and Emily Brontë </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Though I see you walking still, a ghost on Osborne Terrace <br>down the long dark hall to the front door <br>limping a little with a pinched smile <br>in what must have been a silken <br>flower dress <br>welcoming my father, the Poet, on his visit to Newark <br>—see you arriving in the living room <br>dancing on your crippled leg <br>and clapping hands his book <br>had been accepted by Liveright </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Hitler is dead and Liveright’s gone out of business <br>The Attic of the Past and Everlasting Minute are out of print <br>Uncle Harry sold his last silk stocking <br>Claire quit interpretive dancing school <br>Buba sits a wrinkled monument in Old <br>Ladies Home blinking at new babies </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>last time I saw you was the hospital <br>pale skull protruding under ashen skin <br>blue veined unconscious girl <br>in an oxygen tent <br>the war in Spain has ended long ago <br>Aunt Rose</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Allen+Ginsberg">Allen Ginsberg</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=342363" data-title="To Aunt Rose de Allen Ginsberg" data-description="Aunt Rose—now—might I see you 
with your thin face and buck tooth smile and pain 
of rheumatism—and a long black heavy shoe 
for your bony left leg 
limping down the long hall in Newark on the running carpet 
past the black grand piano 
in t..."></div>
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