age
in a quiet room with beige walls
a girl kneels by a woman’s bed
the woman
with crinkled brown skin and wispy white hair
fragile as an autumn leaf
wrinkled and weary from a season now past
softly swaddled in hospital sheets
the girl
her skin soft and rosy with youth
and tracked with tearstains
they sat here together
as the girl wept
her head bent and shoulders trembling
hunched under the agonizing appreciation
of time’s ever-persistent march
she crumbles here, beside the bedframe
trembling with grief
in this beige room
a wizened, knobbly hand reaches
and grasps hers
the woman shakes with the frailty of age
but her grip is strong and steadfast
she pulls the girl close to her chest
and murmurs into her hair
the girl understands
not the words, but the meaning
the woman holds her here
and whispers
until the girl’s tears slow
she holds tight to the woman’s shrivelled hand
and she knows her skin will too be crumpled
under the weight of a lifetime
but at this moment, she rests
held chest to chest with the woman
breathing in pace
with one another.