Wondering if the babies are born,
she sits atop a wooden stool,
breathing softly
and waiting patiently.
The grandchildren will be strong,
she believes,
and sighs once more
into the stale, ancient air.
Then, just then,
a shimmer of light
dances around her tired eyes,
sunken in by the long, hard work of her life.
And the babies will smile
when they see her wrinkled face,
watching her stalwart heart
shining through the leathery exterior.
All the joys of her life,
never amounted to the fact that she,
a witness to so many things,
would live to see the babies-
watch them open their tiny eyes,
and simply
breathe.
Author notes
:same picture as first prompted in the contest
Character and story based off of my Grandmother who resembles the beautiful woman in this photography.
A contest entry
- people watcher by zillion.
300 points, ended May 7, 2008, 10 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Give me a critical thought.
Comments
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I now know that you are a storyteller,
born, not made, to draw us near and
enlighten our senses. This poem is
both gentle and life affirming - I can
feel my heart beating just a bit faster
after reading your words...
Love, Lane
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I think granparents (and old people in general) can be really inspiring. there's so much to their story.
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This is a beautiful piece! It tells... a small piece of a story, yet you can get the picture in your head just by reading this. I'm starting to become addicted to your writing...sst lol
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Well, I'll be very abashed. Thank you for the comment. I am glad you like my style, as many do not. I'll have to take a look at yours as well.
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