Arthritic fingers slowly squeeze the thumb tack pencil
Shooting pain met and pushed back down by love and necessity
Pushed out through the fingers, strength and a tighter grip
The page in front of her…this last page she will fill
70 years prior the flow of thoughts gushed again
Ink poured from her fingers in a deluge on the page
The rain came down her arms, down her neck,
Its genesis in the cloud, thick and rich in her brain
The clouds now, wispy, cirrus high above
Ice crystals from another world as she sits on a hill
Looking up at them wondering of days gone by.
Will she have the strength to pull them down. Love
is what calls her, beats of the city streets ring,
the seams of the bridges, bouncing, the rhythm
the slow legato of Sunday and the heavy fast tap
that is the kitchen she loves in full swing.
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