'Old Lady Poetry'
I came again to the small table
where she keeps her scraps—
the brittle corners of yesterday's paper,
the thin envelope she never sent,
the coin she saved for a bus fare
she no longer needs.
She looked at me the way
a cupboard looks at a thief:
quiet, resigned, already knowing
what will be taken.
I told myself I would only borrow
a little—
just enough language
to get through the night.
And the drawer slid open
and there they were:
her last two mites,
wrapped in a handkerchief
soft from years of folding.
I should have stepped back.
I should have let her keep
whatever small wealth
she had left.
Instead, I pocketed them—
those tiny glints of her living—
and walked out with the weight
of what I'd done
pressing against my ribs.
Now every line I write
feels like it was bought
with her breath.
Every page carries the faint
tremour of her loss.
And when people say
the poem has a certain ache,
I know why:
it's the sound of an old woman
searching her empty drawer
for what I took.
.
-
Author:
crypticbard (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: October 3rd, 2026 05:32
- Comment from author about the poem: Among other readings of this poem, one about the process of writer's block is an inspiration; while another is the process of crafting poetry in relation the quarry of the Muse. But in both cases as well as with other possible variants, it is about the relation between the writer and their Muse/Poetry itself.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 15
- Users favorite of this poem: Paul Bell, nephilim56 ( Norman Dickson), sorenbarrett, Tristan Robert Lange, Kevin Hulme, Friendship
Offline)
Comments7
Someones loss, someones gain, someones ultimate ache.
Without doing much, the old woman has broken him in two.
That truly made my day (night here) dear friend! 🙏🏻🕊️
Great write my friend and a Fav
Thank you muchly my friend 🙏🏻🕊️
most welcome
This is most powerful Cryptic it speaks to guilty hearts everywhere. Stolen lines. Another's thoughts and work taken credit for a crime. The call it plagiarism and a crime of great shame it is but where does it start and end. A faint memory, an unconscious association, something read long ago that seems your own. Ecclesiastes says there is nothing new under the sun but to knowingly take from the wearied mind of an old poet does or at least should leave some feeling of guilt. A fave my friend.
Many thanks dear friend🕊️🙏🏻
My pleasure my friend
arqios, this hit hard...that guilt in the speaker feels heavy enough to bruise. What a piece. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
So glad it worked out. I have another about the process of poeting, perhaps a the next posting cycle. Thank you dear Tittu 🙏🏻🕊️
As I've always said ' There's nothing new under the Sun'. Or did someone else say that?
A good Write.
Chances are someone somewhere already said it, like a foreshadowing 🤣👍🏻🕊️
Wow, that's got me thinking...like it should...it feels like to separate stories told as one?
Either way, the old lady had faith, I suspect.
Most certainly does! Thanks heaps🕊️🙏🏻
Thanks for the fave @Friendhsip 👍🏻🕊️🤩
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