How interesting, the faces of old women,

Maps to the many places we go,

Holding court as Queen or serving as serf.

Shadowing all between.

How fascinating the hands of old women

Shaping worlds, setting them free

Saying “Survive & thrive! Don’t even be

My child, lay no claim to me:

I did not create you: you came through me

And you came for me.”

(We seldom expect that which comes for us… do we?)

Blessed are the feet of old women

Travelled in bonelands & over water

Which have worn stillettos

And lazy mules, seeping at the seams.

Walking heaven, hell, just walking on;

Finding the strength to bear us up

For 70’s, 80’s, and 90’s of years.

Holy are the bodies of old women,

Our heads bowed,

Our knees unsteady.

Our hips fused.

Arms skinny with wattling flesh.

And none of the above matters.

We were here.

We were present.

We knew it.

We owned it.

We owed it.

We took it.

We won.

October 9, 2021 – Carol Borsello