Each vein
is a memory
Each wrinkle
attests
Her bones
dry and brittle
Her grip
still arrests
Each day
brings a promise
Each night
a regret
Her will
is sustaining
Her heart
is at rest
She speaks
in a voice
that is shrill
out of tune
While losing
her wits
often
long before noon
But when
that itinerant
coyote
calls
She looks
down
at her hands
— and remembers it all
(Cody Senior Center: November, 2025)
-
Author:
Kurt Philip Behm (
Offline) - Published: November 9th, 2025 11:13
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 3
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments1
A lovely poem of age and memories. Touching and a fave
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