Hope Outlives Her Time

Slowly.

Slowly the day goes by
as I watch from my window.

Gone, gone are they.

Everyone I’ve come to know.
All those who watched me grow.

Day by day,
I watch my hair fall
brittle and grey.

I’ve lost my way.

Alone in bed,
with a tired body
and a sharp head,

I watch it all go.

Slowly, slowly,
through the seasons.

I watch it all go.

And now,
as I read my own story,

the book reaches backwards
towards its cover.

And I ask myself,

Am I still welcome
in this bed?

Whose space
am I taking up?

Slowly, slowly,
my hair loses its shape.

Slowly, slowly,
I read my final page.

And I hold those final lines
as I hold my spot in time.

Alone
without those
who’ve seen me grow.

Alone,

but before me
are foreign faces.

Foreign faces show.

And each one,
two beating eyes

begin to glow.

Life reaches for me

and gives me
more room.

My page widens.

My sharp words
lean into cursive.

And life moves on.

Me with it,

unfinished.