Here is a blood red rose
That grows aslant the window:
The very window in our lounge room
that gave our Salv his last views of life
in his beloved garden.
The fire drum
lit in the crisp early winter evenings
of his last weeks
is just below the window
positioned so he could see
the high swirls of fire
as they leapt
into the dark winter sky.
The path to the very gate
that he exited on his way
to work and anywhere
so many many many thousands of times
Now closed to him, permanently,
is flanked by trees tall
that once were small.
Standing now like sentries,
In their high hats,
Observing all entries
And exits: all.
All this was on view to Salv
As he looked out on his favoured world
Restricted now by cancer,
To one room and one view.
And this was the gate
We carried him to….
Me, and his seven works of art,
His beloved children…
At the gate
This gate,
His coffin was released
Into the arms of his older grandchildren,
Tenderly did he go
To his waiting Prado!
All this 5 months ago
And now the blood red roses
Frame that view!
And a magpie struts past!
Digging and singing!
- MaryAnne Caleo 5 November 2020
Remembering Salv Caleo 