blue skies poetry

My son bursts into the old folk’s home
fresh from scaling the crags
west of Yamnuska
hair tussled, face burnished
hands sporting limestone scars
talking of pitches and anchors, belays and routes
gobbling cardboard beef and watery spuds

the elders pushing food about their plates

The dining room empties of seniors
shoving walkers to their early beds

Willis organizes a shuffleboard spree
he and Papa vie for a two-dollar win

Yesterday puppets growled and sang
as Papa entertained the kids
while Nana whipped up cookies and pies
fingers kneading the dough with ease

Now Nana drowses in her chair
gnarled fingers slack around her cane
Papa’s skin a grayish hue
tomorrow is chemotherapy

Willis towers over the shoulders
he once rode in glee
I watch the changing of the guard
knitting up the skeins

~ Lanice Jones

Lanice Jones continues to work and write for passion in Calgary. She is a member of the Writer’s Guild of Alberta.

Filed under: Lanice Jones by akublik Date 14 January, 2008