She’s a living history book
that you can’t open,
but you can read her life
inside and out:
The weight of every passing year
bends her spine to breaking,
Dancing shoes grow dust under the bed.
Arthritis swells and mangles
the hands that once baked pastries,
the hands that tended now-abandoned roses.
Her glasses can’t slide down her nose
that’s puffed and stuffed and crooked
from falling from a tree when she was young.
She’s a living history book
that hides forgotten in the library,
a book no one will miss when she is gone.
published in Paddler Press Volume 8 “History,” republished on Contemplate
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