We put limitations on what we can do according to time, saying that there isn’t a lot of time in this life
When the only thing we really have it time, the longest thing we can do in life is live….

Older lady at bus stop

One hand clutches to red marker as if a life line

Steady. Fluctuating almost once a second

Her heart, murmuring a song in the mourning tone

Other hand holds obituaries

With one face circled, reminisces on youthful days

Walks with an extreme limp

Wonders if feeling this good is healthy for her; if knowing is really half the battle…

Because she knows that 90% of the people she knew no longer know breath on this earth

She is beautifully flawed in all her withered wonder

Turtleneck hides veins webbing varicosely down her back

Wrinkled skin clinches time in the folds

Her face is an encyclopedia of abuse

Read through the much cracked foundation and you’ll see pages of pain

Civil rights marches cased healthy bones in bruised flesh

A broken body holds a free spirit

That is currently questioning if knowing really is half the battle

Because knowing that she’s at the age

Where life appears to be fleeing quickly… doesn’t stop thoughts of her

Not being circled in the obituaries…

Because she’s the last one left to hold the marker.