Aging Locust
-Joy S. Barefoot
Children play beneath her arms,
tumbling in her gown;
wrenched from graceful shoulders
by the north wind, blowing down.
She listens to their laughter
ring the universe.
She watches teasing playmates;
patiently observes
old familiar games they play
from the ages past;
little whispered secret things
from each lad and lass.
She knows the names they're called by;
their mother's voice, she knows.
Mother, too, had played these games
many moons ago.
