Remembrance
The children in the park
See the old, gray-haired woman
Every afternoon. They watch her.
She is always sitting in the rocking chair
On her porch, sometimes reading,
Sometimes knitting,
Sometimes just rocking, half asleep.
What they don’t know
Is that she is watching them, too.
How could they imagine that,
For a little while every afternoon
While they tumble and play,
The old woman they see is
Once again young and beautiful.
She is one of them.
She is there beside them, running
With long limber legs
To outdistance them all.
She tosses her long, blonde curls and
Teases the boys who chase her.
She walks arm in arm with the other girls,
Remembering,
Laughing at a private joke.
She plays a jump rope game
Or does handstands with ease.
When they ride their bicycles,
She rides with them, hair blowing,
Sweet-scented wind in her face.
For those few afternoon hours
She becomes the young girl
She remembers so well, no longer with
The pain in her hips and ankles,
Free from canes and walkers
And worries about her future,
Ready for whatever comes her way.
And, when she gets up, every afternoon,
To walk into the house, she smiles
And stands a little straighter
Even though she is using her cane.
Copyright © Barbara Peckham | Year Posted 2021
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