She doesn’t really smile anymore.
It’s more of a grimace these days.
The muscles in her face have been stretched thin by life.
Spots in her pigmentation mark
Each time she felt disappointment.
The grey in her hair
Staked its claim long ago.
Each shoulder slopes in angles unknown to each other
But felt by her whole form.
She creaks. She shuffles.
She shakes. But he saw the light shine,
Saw how it caught her face
That day in the park
and he couldn’t help himself.
“Dear,” he mumbled, “look here.”
She groaned
Tilting to her left, then her right, then her left,
Until she made a full rotation
Toward his camera.
I don’t know how long they have loved each other.
But it doesn’t matter.
The love was there in her hooded eyes as she stood
Glorious
Slumped
But content
With her best smile directed at the man she loves.
Central Park bowed behind her.
About the Creator
Hannah Pniewski
Hannah wrote her first poem when her youngest sister was born. It wasn't very good. But it was chocked full of precious, true nine-year-old feelings. She has tried to reproduce something that honest ever since.
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