You Are Welcome - Poem by George Abrams
said the spinster, whose life had been without turmoil,
unlike yours. The world is full of ample plenitude; the operations,
when performed in sterile conditions, are usually successful;
we exchange emails as easily as letters and
nothing is lost now that we have the internet. We are increasing
exposure, said the white-haired old lady, sitting by the window
in Ramsgate, looking up occasionally to scan, through the double-
glazing, the vistas of sun, sea, cloud and rain which Turner
loved so much, worshipped so much and sought to capture
in an increasing frenzy of abstracted passion. You think I am
going to start calling you dear do you dear? No I shall not do that.
There is space for you here but I am not inviting you in.
Do you think that living longer is a blessing Dear? (Oh dear
now I’ve said it.) It’s the knitting you see, or the quilting
or the darning. It makes me careless in my thoughts,
like Turner, and, like him, I almost grasp the sense of
something so vast and untamed that I only catch
the outline of it as it advances towards me from the ocean,
whipped into a frenzy by the clash of elements, light and spray,
so that I forget my age, my manners and you too, dear.
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