Cold night- late November-
The leaves of the morning glory vine
Still draped outside my window
Hang in the air
Like a sad, slow sigh:
Remember when we were young?
Remember being beautiful?
Remember how it felt to burst
Each morning
Into bloom?
I reach out to touch
A curled, wrinkled leaf
Mottled shades of green and brown
And am surprised to find it
So soft
It comforts me
Like the hand
Of a grandmother.
