May knew that it was unlikely that she was seeing Mickey. He’d been dead these twenty years. But she was pushing her walker over the threshold between the bedroom and the living room, feeling the deep ache in her hands and knees, and there Mickey was standing on the porch peering in through the shadows … Continue reading The Invitation
Tag: aging
Not Dementia
A wintering of her mind churns the gone familiars of ninety-two years? Posted in response to the Ragtag Community Daily Prompt cyclone.
Plans
-Visit mom in hospital -Pick up my C-PAP Those sun lit mountain peaks—so far way
Home is Where
He was looking down at her mailbox, at the address there, nodding his head the way a person does who has found what he is looking for and now has no idea what he is going to do with it. At first Joanie thought he was just some tramp who had wandered a bit far … Continue reading Home is Where
What Does He See this Winter?
old man’s eyes flatline over winter drifts in empty aspen grove.
Snow on Rose Canes
Snow sifting through thorns:: old couple:: no need to speak of odor of roses.
Every Old Day is a New Day
Once, back in the day a skinny, flat chester had rammed her knee into his crouch. That had hindered things.
They Wheel Him Out Doors
They wheel him out doors, lock wheels. The old dog brings a stick. He heaves it from his seat— a wheelchair in wanlight— Sun through empty branches. Days past he’d fetch the stick again. He leans down, strokes the wiry nape— Posted in response to Ragtag Community Word of the Day play.
Not Getting Older is Not in the Contract
“Lon?” Vera called. She craned her head and spoke into the rest of the house. She listened. “Lon, Eddie's here.” She cocked her head and listened again. She was a thin, tall woman with kind, brown eyes, and she always seemed to be smiling. Eddie believed it was genuine, but he wondered how she kept … Continue reading Not Getting Older is Not in the Contract
When Poems Lilted
Summer’s gone when poems lilted fibber tunes of one thing for another— self-wallows under willow-leaf— shaded frog-croak water— when bright little singings— liar airs clotting even water— enfulled a fool. Now, nothing left but winter— water songs sing ice— voiceless noise under leaf-lack willow shade. Winds shriek no name. Deplete There are several versions of … Continue reading When Poems Lilted
