The old rosebush is going dormant.
The winter chill curling its brown leaves,
Wilting its blossoms
But the bud doesn’t know that
So upward it turns its
Cheerful baby face,
Smiling at the bleak sun.
Home movies tell this old mama
A similar story.
In this season, while aches penetrate
My swollen joints, curling my fingers
Wilting, wrinkling my skin
I see pictures of baby faces
Smiling onward forever.
I hear the bright laughter of
Better days, toddler kisses and hugs;
Happy Birthday songs sung
Lights of Christmases past
Art projects, football games
Family gatherings with
Children of long ago.
In this frozen season of neglect
Absent progeny calls or visits
Our lives feel thinner and thinner
In this lonely winter and yet
Here in these reels, I still see
Proof of early sunny days,
Love given; love received.