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As The Glider Glides 

back and forth on the porch
the afternoon sun crinkles my eyes
the surgery done and my gall bladder gone
I’ll count what I’ve got, not what I’ve lost
phoebe has left us alone
her fledglings have dropped from the rafter and fled
surgery was easy
tiny little hole poked in my belly button
but my shoulder
last year turning the handle on the cider press
time slithering up on me
and the glider glides in the afternoon sun
what if I had never bought my daughter the bike she wanted
that pitched her over the handlebars
what if I had told my mother I’d rather live with my father
the glider glides and a butterfly settles
on the edge of the glass which encases a candle
I forget what it’s called
in the afternoon sun
I can’t raise my hand up over my head
it aches – find strength in what’s left behind
not what I’ve left behind but what I’ve got left
my good arm on the back of the glider
the afternoon sun
a cool drink
the butterfly on the candle thingy
and the light of my life by my side
in the stillness of our home
gliding together holding my hand

Speaking of...

  • A poem by Tony Howarth.

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