There’s something to be said
for living on the bottom half
of the hourglass, for being the elder
of the neighborhood, the widow-woman.
The morning walk on country
roads nets animals to pet,
gardens to sublet in the mind,
air freshening body and brain.
Submission to the new status
bring neighborly coffee
in Italian cup and saucer
and a rancher checking on bulls
who pulls up to chat
then waits down the road
until trash-pickers are safely past.
A wave of thanks from designated elder,
arm through truck window in salute,
and the rich life in unwinding time
slides on.
About the Author: Patricia Wellingham-Jones
Patricia Wellingham-Jones is a widely published former psychology researcher and writer/editor. She has a special interest in healing writing, with poems recently in The Widow’s Handbook (Kent State University Press). Chapbooks include Don’t Turn Away: poems about breast cancer, End-Cycle: poems about caregiving, Apple Blossoms at Eye Level, Voices on the Land and Hormone Stew.