" Mother"

This black and white photo
there-
on my wall
is of you,
Mother
at 15 or 16
taken during
the height of WWII.
In your life
the devastation
was not yet apparent-
still, it would come
in only a few
years.
Then,
you were a
petite beauty
with banana curls
an epitome of grace-
a teenage Scarlet O'Hara...
and your gown,
the Persian carpet
on which you stood-
these were the signs
of an era
soon ended.
In 3 years
the Soviets came
and our family's noble
distinction
dissolved with the
past...
Even the family estate
where the photo was
taken; that majestic house
would crumble
to ruin...
While today,
atop my bookshelf
is another picture,
this one's in color,
the year's '59...
( it is of my parents' wedding.)
And you, Mother
are shown in semi- profile
still beautiful,
though hauntingly so...
for you've a weariness
that I, poet know
as the reflection of
ghosts
of Budapest's fall
- there,
in your eyes.

This poem is about: 
My family
Our world

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