Comments about Lorna Billanes
In the half-light,
she steps out into the chill of dawn,
her shawl tight around her.
Slightly stooped and weighed down
by an ache that makes her old,
she whistles softly
to banish all memories of ghosts.
Her mind wanders off to tasks
both routine and mundane:
the trek to her favorite baker
and later, to the stalls
for a week's ration of condiments,
seasonings and staples.
At mid-morning, a bounty of fresh produce
awaits her skillful hands.
Would the legumes need sauteing
Or are they better off steamed?
Once grilled, would the fish ...