THE OLD WOMAN
worked,
went to meetings,
rode buses,
shopped,
carried bundles home.
At demonstrations,
she held peace signs high,
shouted as if she owned
the keys to her life.
No one thought her body frail,
(least of all me).
She was supposed to last forever.
Or walk erect until the end.
That's a mother.
Now she's in a nursing home
screaming,
her old life shadowing the bed,
throngs of people marching,
wars raging,
children waiting.