Indignities Made Majestic
Flashing her joyless smile
of random lip motions, the tiny old lady
glared down a thunderstorm,
getting louder and thinner
and more like stone as she went.
Festooned in flung off femininity
like multicolored windmills,
her whole panoply of life
was a parade of indignities
made majestic in its tapestry
of loss, profound and painful
absence stitched all around.
She shuffles to the cliffs that border
the end of the world
where the dust did not dare
to settle or lift
the pain of mortality.
Glad was she when her world went silent.
Brenda
Mox
A weaver of words, a pirate of tales, this great-grandmother sits on the shore at the mouth of the Chesapeake Bay, Virginia, USA deeply digging my way to a poem or two. I have had my pearls published in Eber and Wein Anthology, Blaze Vox, Wingless Dreamer, Neo Poet and Bewildering Stories.