Monkey pods
We¹d planned the day
the new museum
her heart¹s desire
yet when we made it through the line
I could see her
sag into herself
her rounded shoulders
trying to hold their own
but her eyes giving in
so when she eyed the wheelchairs
I asked
and she acquiesced.
How long should I stand
before this painting?
Is it the Aztec room or photography next?
Was the vase as interesting
if one was sitting?
I¹d ask but she demurred.
Perhaps getting close to her face
so she could read my lips
became more an interruption.
Suddenly all this was in my hands.
When we¹d tired
we left by way of the gift shop‹
her traditional post card for her
scrapbook.
While she looked I window shopped
picked up a rattle
monkey pods tied and woven to a stick
I shook it near my ear
the soft shush of the pods swishing
a tiny clack when they hit each other
like a Tui bird in a banyan tree.
She was ready and we left.
Later when I said goodnight
she took my face in her hands
I want you to have that rattle.
I can¹t hear it but I saw you listen.
