Sunday, September 11, 2011

The Antique

She puts her tiny hand on the dresser
as she passes.
He is tall, so tall, and
his handles are kind eyes.

She senses only
her sleeping parents,
the long walk to the bathroom,
her pride in her big girl bed.

Of course
she doesn't sense
the old lady she will become.
The limp, the drawer full of pills,
the love and the pain,
the children and grandchildren
the life well lived.

Of course
she doesn't see
the man's sweaters
that will live in the third drawer down.

The return trip is better.
She climbs into the high, high bed,
grateful to the friend
standing sentinel while she sleeps.