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.