“There’s my boy!”
Tiny arms, light as driftwood draw me close.
A careful hug. Nana is beautiful in her frailty.
A hearing-aid squeals against my cheek.
Long after she’s gone
I will wither; my limbs
become skinny and pale,
light as the driftwood at New Brighton
where Poppa’s ashes blew.
Posted in Poems
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February 13th, 2008 at 1:50 pm
I like this a lot, except for the phrase ‘a careful hug’. Yep.
February 13th, 2008 at 2:11 pm
What would be better?
July 16th, 2008 at 8:12 am
I think it’s just right. The “a careful hug” seems to emphasize her frailty.