It is not glands
or tenor of voice
or fire in the eye
as she first thought.
In middle years
she learned
it was not what was funny
or what was important
or who did the most
or who was right
or who did the most
or who was right
or who won.
She now knows
it is the disquiet
at the end of the day
at the end of the day
while she welcomes the sunset,
enjoys the meal and then
enjoys the meal and then
so easily slips beneath
the quilt.
It is the need to walk
the yard in winter
planning the land
and hauling the wood
while she reads poetry
quietly in the corner chair
in the sun
anticipating spring.
in the sun
anticipating spring.
It is waiting for the
phone to ring
or waiting for the
new news
or opening the mail,
While she sips tea
or red wine
and watches the same
mystery on TV once again
or enhances the photo
of her grandchild.
It is trying to change the ending
versus acceptance of the certain.