Time passes...

Mind alert, she views her body,

wondering if she’ll see tomorrow

as clock ticks and marches time upon the mantel.

She is ancient, skin dry and wrinkly,

bones old and spindly,

loose flesh clinging as if an afterthought.

Her legs and arms are spindle thin,

thinly layered in parchment skin that 
cracks and sheds, slowly mapping her decline. 

But her legs serve her well.

Although bladder weakened, she unaware

of stale odours scenting, rising from the cushioned chair

on which she sits, hunched and almost day imprisoned. 

She still has time (she thinks) to totter, hand between her legs,

to the commode she hides beneath the stairs. 

Relieved, another battle won! 

(Just a little leak (she thinks), she’ll change her panties later,

delay the effort in the changing.)

She looks at her hands, fingers gnarled, bent,

bowing to disease that wreaks havoc on her tiny body 

(I have shrunk y’know, she’ll say),

these fingers that once knit hats and tiny jumpers

for her little men, her loving lovely little boys. 

Her boys, men now (God love’m) treat her well,

love her like there is no tomorrow,

knowing her tomorrow might never break in morning glory.

She will leave them one day, she knows that,

it forever playing on her mind,

wondering if she’ll see tomorrow

as clock ticks and marches time upon the mantel,

ticking out her slow decline.

Anna :o]

Sumana at Poets United has us writing about the Body and above is my offering.  Cheers for the inspiration Sumana!

Please know, despite being ancient, the words are not of me.  Well, maybe some of them are…

Image:  Courtesy of  Wikimedia Commons

Author:  DanielPenfield