She strode, firm steps,
sure-footed whether walking
outdoors, back and forth
from refrigerator to stove
to table, or at work. I try
to imagine how she feels now,
eighty-eight, pushing a walker
for balance, her steps slow,
hesitant. Once, she told me
that inside her head and heart
she remained young, disputed
only by glances in the mirror.
When sadness overwhelms
me as I watch her struggle,
I think of how her struggle
is not confined to movement
alone.
Written for: http://www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides
Write a fragile poem
So beautiful it made me cry thinking of my mum in her last years. Your writing is amazing x just thought I would tell you how much I enjoy it. I don’t always comment but I always appreciate x
Sent from my iPhone
Thank you so much for letting me know that you enjoy my writing. I can’t always comment either, so I do know what you mean.
Nice, very nice. I am so glad you persevered. I love this before and after. My mother is 84 and entering these years where I shall have to watch her struggle. It’s already not easy, for either of us. You captured the before and after we all face.
Thanks, Margo.
She *is* young inside. The portrait you paint is fragile, yet so strong.
Thanks, B. I keep trying to get into your site, but only wordpress comes up.
I could go for one of those moments, esp today: AIRHEADS
Just took a look at your site. Lovely photo. I am 63, and most of my friend’s parents have passed away. Hope it didn’t hurt you too badly, reading my poem.
Excellent, and so touching!
Thanks, Mad!