“It is the image in the mind that links us to our lost treasures, but it is the loss that shapes the image, gathers the flowers, weaves the garland.”
– Colette, MY MOTHER’S HOUSE
Here I sit, back home in Flushing, fighting with myself. Where to start, where to begin my second entry? A tune from The Sound of Music pops into my head, “Let’s start at the very beginning, a very good place to start…” Born with the ability to see in my mind’s eye, an image comes into view, and so begins my Greek-American Odyssey…
I wrote LASTING IMAGE in a 1998 poetry workshop. Through a visualization exercise, the facilitator asked us to search for an image that inspires us to put pen to paper. In an instant I found myself in the two-room house where I was born on the Island of Paros. My mother is standing by the stove. She rolls up her sleeve, and gently places her right elbow into a large pot of milk to test the temperature. She is making yogurt…
A large pot filled with smooth white yogurt,
Placed with love on a chair, sits and sets.
Hanging from a wooden beam on the ceiling,
A small yellow bird sits silently in its cage.
Framed in her icon home on the wall,
Panayia, the Virgin Mary, sees all and stares into space.
A bird floundering in her nest,
A silent spirit lost at sea,
On an island of dreams,
Makes yogurt for the last time in her Greek island home.