It's Still Life

A Glosa poem form in response to a quatrain from Old Man Throwing a Ball, by David Baker 

            “dodders out, she’s old as the sky, wheeling
            her green tank with its sweet vein, breath.
            She tips down the path he’s made for her,
            grass rippling but trim, soft underfoot”

The Sky Watches Over Her

On Monday she nearly felt her age. On Friday,
she felt her way down the stairs. Sometimes,
she doesn’t care what day it is. Today, she
dodders out. She’s old as the sky, wheeling

all that time gave her, but she says she wants
a little room for thinking, in the corner where
the nappies used to hang, by the hedgerows,
her green tank with its sweet vein, breath.

She thinks how much time gave her, children
who presented her their own, scented roses
nodding by the door. A man she loves, and
she tips down the path he’s made for her,

listening to vanished crickets whose song
still hangs in the air. And she closes her
eyes to the scent of her own late hours,
grass rippling but trim, soft underfoot.

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Written for Glo/NaPoWriMo: Day 3 write a Glosa poem, and Writers Digest “A smell“. The source poem is Old Man Throwing a Ball, by David Baker . Image is public domain, WikiArt,  Marie in the Garden (The Roses), by Peder Severin Kroyer ©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting #glopowrimo #napowrimo on Twitter