Poem #26 Poem by RIC BASTASA

the painting that you
gave me
was nailed upon its
frame by the wall of
our old house in that
faded city of my ancestors

it shows a man without
clothes with his back facing
at me
he is thin and without hair
he cast a shadow on the
the floor where he stood
facing the blue sea

sometimes i stand there
in the middle of this old
ancestral house
without paint without scent.

sometimes i wonder what if
the man without hair, thin and
tall, faces me as i stand here
lonely in the middle of this
ancestral house where no one
wants to stay that long,

what if i have seen his eyes
as he stood on that pavement
of nails, what if i look for
long in his eyes, would i also
see the suffering of my
ancestors, the suffering of
this house, and all the
sufferings of those who
once lived here?