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| Thursday, March 30, 2006 |
| Gentle Lady |
Gnarled and twisted like the branches of an old oak tree.
Her fingers, wrists, knees, so swollen like water balloons.
She is quiet and tired.
Her muscles are emaciated.
The once young, taught skin hangs in wrinkles and folds off her bent body as though it is a sheet that's been tossed over a skeleton.
She looks listlessly out the window, her lips parted, a bit of her dentures show themselves.
She makes a brief comment about the weather and impatiently takes a bite of her ham.
Her face, at first glimpse wears a mask of indifference,
However,
Occasionally,
The lines betray her troubled mind.
She doesn't care for idle conversation and so sits in silence.
Never complaining,
But is adamant,
Indignant,
Stubborn....
As to the subject of her independence.
Eighty three years she has fought this battle called life.
I wonder if it was wrought with meaning..
If she's ready to rest.... |
posted by katmandusuekookachoo @ 8:58 PM  |
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