Old Woman’s Hands

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)

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