TIME AND ITS RELATIVES
I hobble in the ruins of myself,
grateful as a bronco out to pasture.
Layers of dust find ways to hide
the glisten underneath. Red, as in coral
thanks the longest waves of light.
I didn’t die at 24 as I once thought.
At 93 my wits remind – the bell
still tolls for me, even as my ears
have given in to half-closed doors.
This or that makes choice less
wobbly now – The sand keeps
temporary prints the sea will swallow.
Hosanna to the wheelchair and the cane.
Daylight wouldn’t be the same without them.
About the Author: Peggy Aylsworth’s poetry has appeared in numerous literary journals throughout the U.S. and abroad, including Beloit Poetry Journal, The MacGuffin,Poetry Salzberg Review, Yuan Yang (Hong Kong), White Rabbit (Chile). Her work was nominated for the 2012 Pushcart Prize.
Artwork: Vinayak Harshvardhan