Mother has always loved to fill everything with her precious knickknacks,
even though father and I have tried to reduce their number
also in a rude boycotting way.
Since I left my parents’ home, many years have passed,
father has remained alone in that hopeless fight
and he has succumbed , little by little ,
to the triumphant presence of an increasing number of porcelain figurines.
Time softens all sharp angles and now he feels a tolerant tenderness for them,
mostly for the one mother calls “The Two Elderly People”.
“It’s you and me –she tells him- it’s like a symbol”
Maybe she’s right