For my Mothers' Mother

Five foot two in shoes,

though you claim to be taller,

and stubborn.

The thin lines around your mouth were carved by deep worries, I know,

but they look like permanent smiles.

And the curling in your hands is from holding tight

to the threads of our family, pulling us close -

and the forward press of your teeth is be from the clench of

a determined jaw, not weak bones.

They say that age is grey and sad,

or frail.

but you are silver and smiling,

a staunch wee warrior-

and I cannot be frightened of a future that looks like you.