wb :

I see her as she sits -
the woman in her wheelchair;
will she look down and see me?
What will she see? What will she think?

Grandmama, you've no english to speak of,
I have no age.
Talk me of time,
and i will tell you my youth.

You wizened crone!
what secrets have you gained?
what secrets have lost you?
What have you bartered for your beauty?


I see you, as you gaze on me.
You smile, that look of content wistful.
You know more than I.

Yet you sigh, sewing on,
Knitting with your needles,
Clackety-clackety
Clack.

Labels: poetry