She was struggling to push her tricycle toward home
very early in the morning..
it’s rear basket held some groceries.
She inched along the roadside, looking as if
she soon would fall, just barely keeping her balance.
I became a walker offering help
but she demurred, with thanks.
The grocery store is half a mile away
and I sense that this might be her only way
to procure things for her sustenance,
Those who drive their golf carts ‘round this village
go back and forth quite easily to acquire their needs
and those of us with cars do likewise.
But here is one who works her way along the road
and there are none like her, as far as I can see.
Old — bent — heavily clad on a warm morning
she plods with minute steps refusing help.
So I pass by carrying home with me
images of the woman proud and dealing
with the contingencies of aging in her own way.