Nepal: She is many moons, every moon

Earrings
curve into golden rings
as her waist
wraps into certitude.
Steadily, she crosses
brick and stone, leaning
into her midday walk,
like a blossom curling
into willowy sunbeams.
Inhale, she steps, exhale she pauses.
Her heavy foot lifts,
her rounded body bends,
her head hangs low.
The mountains are near –
their magnetic peaks,
flirt with fickle clouds.
A silver umbrella tucks
into her jeweled palm, fingers
clutch a sturdy, black cane.
She is many
moons, every moon, this
moon, holding
each interval in her
eclipsed face and
bowed shoulders.
Time is ever present.
-Jenna Filia-

old woman, cane, in street2 (1 of 1)

old woman, cane, in street (1 of 1)

old woman, cane, in street3 (1 of 1)

old woman, cane, in street4 (1 of 1)

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