Margaret

Wraithlike, she toddles uncertainly
down the street, her silhouette
so transparent she is almost not
there. She hesitates .. stops .. moves on
and I watch as she approaches
then step from my garden toward
her calling her name and she
halts, a wan smile passing across
her wrinkled face looking painfully
frail. Quickening her step she
holds wide her arms and we embrace.
I hug her to me, this pathetic figure
of kind intent, feeling birdlike
bones layered in clothing more
substantial than the body they cover.
Like prisoners in winter houses
neighbours, even those living on
nearby streets long familiar with one
another rarely move about on icy
snow-laden landscapes. A fall she
took back then somehow affected
her mobility but spring has now
arrived in its tentative teasing way
and even Margaret has responded.