Her hair falls to her frail shoulders

in natural streaks of grey and white.

She complains of having too many greys

and heeds her sister’s words about using coconut oil.

 

Wrinkles start to show on her

suntanned  hands

and painted nails.

 

Her dark chocolate eyes

reflect mine in turn as

she smiles in joy

just to see me emerge

from my cave of isolation.

 

She’s small and frail-looking

as she navigates around the apartment.

Her will,

her faith,

and her love

are strong.

 

Strong as the bunk bed

that holds a family of 3 at night.

 

Her faith is like spider webs

holding the family together

as she prays each morning and night.

 

Her love is Venus as it rises each morning

and when it greets the evening.