Touched
Through the spacious waiting areas
of the Cancer Institute, First Hill,
came dancing a sprightly lady
in bright cloak tunic and tights -
seventy, if she was a day.
Behind her decorously came
her daughter, one guessed,
and two granddaughters smiling
back at me when I smiled.
Grandmother was today some
superwoman returned, giving
thanks to all at the Institute.
As she turned she saw my smile
with gracious acknowledgment,
made her exit with her train,
reprieved, restored, rejuvenated?
So it seemed, but her ravaged face
stayed in my mind long after,
and her strong young womenfolk.
Touched? ’She seemed a bit…touched?’
That’s what we used to say after
some fey old thing danced by.
Seattle July 2015
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