age

in a quiet room with beige walls

a girl kneels by a woman’s bed

the woman

with crinkled brown skin and wispy white hair

fragile as an autumn leaf

wrinkled and weary from a season now past

softly swaddled in hospital sheets

the girl

her skin soft and rosy with youth

and tracked with tearstains

they sat here together

as the girl wept

her head bent and shoulders trembling

hunched under the agonizing appreciation

of time’s ever-persistent march

she crumbles here, beside the bedframe

trembling with grief

in this beige room

a wizened, knobbly hand reaches

and grasps hers

the woman shakes with the frailty of age

but her grip is strong and steadfast

she pulls the girl close to her chest

and murmurs into her hair

the girl understands

not the words, but the meaning

the woman holds her here

and whispers

until the girl’s tears slow

she holds tight to the woman’s shrivelled hand

and she knows her skin will too be crumpled

under the weight of a lifetime

but at this moment, she rests

held chest to chest with the woman

breathing in pace

with one another.