I TRADE the TEMPO of everyday life for the altered pace of vacation, struggling with discomfort at the lack of structure.

Georg’ann

Under the glass table, we both spot them.
The tied shoelaces.
Having lived close enough to the limitations of the body,
we marvel at the white laces
crossed, tucked, looped, pulled
into perfect bows with her FRAIL fingers.

Sipping tea, her eyes moisten but no tear falls.
A shadow of emotion unwilling to fully darken.
Instead she laughs at the ironic QUOTE on the cup.

After several stories we venture to the garden.
She steadies herself hand in mine, fingers woven
as we walk the STONE path in a halting TEMPO.
Her body half mine, my long legs shorten their stride.
This will be our last walk together, the goodbye visit.
I wonder how many more times will she tie her shoes.

Heather