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
