Even after her daughters left home for good, riots
of vehement Polish still erupted from the widow’s porch,
a bellowing unholy cursing none of us kids could understand.
Sometimes nothing provoked
her daily rants, sometimes everything.
Behind her door, whatever lonely lamentations
obsessed her seething brain no one knew.
Perhaps she howled at far-away ghosts that haunted
the war-torn ashes of her beautiful Poland.