Love Vine

She is volunteering

at the senior center gift shop

seated adrift walls hung with

recycled attic clutter,

where necklace mobiles dangle

over a table of used postcards.

Her head arises from

an oversized floral shirt

hanging tentlike over her frail body

like a turtle emerging from a shell

to greet me, to engage me.

I can barely hear her voice

as she introduces herself

and begins to tell me

her story, offer her gift-

her unframed thoughts fall like

the strands of her white hair

wispy and light.

I am old too now

and wonder how long

before I fade into a chair

and grasp at the attention

of a passerby

to reveal what is left

when years scrape away trappings

and vanities of the soul,

when I want to tell

what is real, what counts

who I am now-

She is going right to the point

despite her scattered thoughts.

When I say my name

daylight shines heightening

the blue in her pale eyes

And she tells me about

David who loves my name

and her voice grows young

as she invites her beloved husband into

this space.

In few words- vibrating with presence

she shares her life blessing,

the mention of him awakens her

and draws meaning into the moment.

Love spirals around time

A hopeful ever reaching vine

I wish I had a David in my life

a vine between the loss of

former identities and roles

a love sustaining my reason to exist-

How fortunate this union

that keeps her alive

And she concludes-

wistfully now,

My David died 29 years ago.

Love spirals around time

A hopeful ever reaching vine

Painting by Uma Thynell