Taciturn

Indeed she is different from papa, this aunt of mine
Is reserved, in speech and manners
Inclined always to the silence in grandma’s garden
Her expressions are always silent like a nod
When she means yes, like a waving of her hand
When she wants to leave, she is like
A quiet pond, she is like the silent fish in there,
She is like the lotus amidst the ripples of this
Family in disagreement about wealth and money,

Her reticence, her reluctance to join in the family
Conversation amazes me, her fragility I am bound
To respect like she is a delicate beautiful butterfly

But then, when the extrajudicial partition was
Laid on the table, she cries foul, she wants more
Than what we must fairly get, and we all say that this
Is unfair, oh sure, I realize, she is stern, she is
Silent for some other reasons, she must be thinking

That we her nephews and nieces are morons
Enough not to know the law of inheritance, about

The fact that when she and papa were young
She was always adored and grandpa’s favorite.

In fact, papa died a very sour, shouting old man.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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