by Marilyn R. Wilson
A bent, aged crone nears the old well
Movements are crippled, yet fluid
Nearby a young woman stands
A bent, aged crone nears the old well
Movements are crippled, yet fluid
Her body buried in limitations
But her dancer's soul shines out
Refusing to be denied expression
A war that neither wins.
Nearby a young woman stands
Fingers twitching to write
Remembering the face in photo
Beads of sweat rise, air like an oven
Remembering the face in photo
Beads of sweat rise, air like an oven
Gazing at what is ancient
Except in time's mirror
Eye caught, emotions strangely mirrored
Eye caught, emotions strangely mirrored
The crone hobbles from the well
Moving slowly in the oven like heat
Steps taken in a choreographed dance
She moves towards the watcher and
Moving slowly in the oven like heat
Steps taken in a choreographed dance
She moves towards the watcher and
The photo clutched in her sweaty fingers
They stand face to face,
The writer and the old woman
Arthritic hands reach for the treasured photo
Of a beautiful young dancer
Moving with ease and grace.
A memory from a lifetime ago
Fragile crepe-y hands tremble
Gnarled fingers caress the image
Emotions rise and spill out
Emotions rise and spill out
The crone gestures to follow
The young writer sighs in relief
Slowly they move across the plaza
The siren aromas of a bakery calls
A tiny patio table welcomes them
Fresh pastry hot from the oven
Seduces them and unites them
Their comradery opens a door
They step through it hand-in-hand
With a sigh and a smile and
Words drawn from memory's deep well
The crippled aged crone disappears
The crippled aged crone disappears
Dancing, leaping, past stories come alive
Grateful. the writer scribbles furiously
As the girl from the photo emerges.
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