A river gently washes the tears of women over 50
Inexorably cleaning the crevices under sagging skin
Drenched in gravity’s reality.
We are the ones left behind
By children grown
Whose schedules press unceasingly.
Outlived our usefulness,
With fingers intimate with
Cooking, laundry and the drying of tears.
A river of Grace seeps through us
Binding old wounds
Salving new ones,
Its sweetness clearest to those
Most intimately acquainted,
Whose wounds sharpen as days unwind.
Let my hand touch the ragged edges of you,
For mine are similar.
Compassion lies in the knowing,
Such knowledge binding us
As we let the river enclose us,
Hold us fast to one another.
Copyright All rights Reserved 2011
Shared with Poets United Poetry Pantry