On Mom at Eighty-Four

On Mom at Eighty-Four

Her Birthday now passed.

A day, in a litany of days

that have easily amassed.

Tumbling like dominos stacked on end,

then unceremoniously set a-tilt by the wind.

It all begins in black and white.

A Brownie Box Camera image

freezing beauty and innocence like day and night.

Yet time is not an idle guard

even gentle exposure makes one hard.

Changed by relentless passing seasons,

flipping photo album pages,
the touches and needs of loving legions.

Stored in a dusty shoe box case,

still she moves through time with grace.

Aging is an inevitable duty.

A process working harsh on the flesh

giving texture to her beauty

and color to her innocence.

A labor welcome as the dawn's intent.

A new day comes,

with it's own personality and quirk.

and falling sun on sun
topples into another day

and another year, I hope to say.

We are blessed once again because of this,

with the warmth of her smile

and her tender kiss.
If we have just one wish to go,

it would be for more dominos.