In the novelty,
Françoise welcomed our visits–
still mourning
A reading of Proust’s In Search of Lost Time, expressed as “haiku”, one for each page of the text
In the novelty,
Françoise, now known,
tisane infused
preparing tisane,
aunt talks alone
waiting to visit,
wrapped in strange poetic smells–
a wintry sun
house, town, morning, night
flooded back by madeleine
from my cup of tea
houses huddled by
the darkened church of Combray,
unreal in my mind
at great aunt’s house.
aunt confined by grief, illness,
obsession, piety
for long afterwards
old memories of Combray
clouded