I look at Seth’s portrait painted by Rob.
It hangs next to my bed on the wall.
The way Seth holds his left arm reminds me:
I went to an all girl’s school.
A few of the girls held their left arm the same way,
I clearly recall.
There was something about them.
They were different. I felt it.
They were in on a secret, somehow.
Now I think they were privy in some way, somehow,
to this very same NOW.
Papa’s maternal aunt, Tante Settchen,
reminds me of Seth with her name.
Seems like sometimes, somehow,
past, present and future are one and the same.

Ute Kaboolian
(4-4-2019)