Olding

We didn’t know our mom would live so long,
who lost her mother while gestating me.
But till the virus she was going strong,
although that struck coincidentally
with normal wear that’s no calamity:
her parts became too tenuous to fix.
She daylight falls asleep so easily.
She’s 95. Will she greet 96?

(Huitain)

This entry was posted in Coronaverse, Family, Poetry and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s