The Walker
No matter the weather
every day she passes
with knees slightly bent,
hands gnarled and clenched at her sides
moving down the sidewalk.
Chin jutting forward,
her back becomes a c-curve
beneath a fine hatted-head.
Always she wears a hat ...
of knit in the winter with
a scarf from yarn to match,
or maybe, nothing matches.
In the spring, the hat
is from a fisherman
and on another day,
its a jaunty baseball cap.
Strong will etches her face
holding her mouth in determination
to reach the end of the street,
then turn around and walk back again
with cheeks rosier and
beautiful wrinkling eyes raised to heaven.
Its the Joy of her day
this little sashay to the corner
then home up the block
as her strong heart beats,
pulsing with gratitude for
one more walk.
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