Andronice, conqueror of all men.
You have outlived them all,
those you needed most –
husband and seven children, all boys.
Andronice, not a brute force of nature,
but simply nature: juicy
prickly pear.
Thus you weave your invisibility,
Your ever-presence in this world,
Your immortality – woman.
In the end what remains is your
ageless black-kerchiefed face
from behind rain-streaked window
panes,
sad face for ever a widow.
