#non romantic love
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.
If you want to help me keep writing, consider Reading This Poem Here, reblogging, or supporting me via Ko-Fi