A Century in Her Hands

by The Hearth Voice

Original EveryPoem Studio house-voice poem.

At one hundred, she does not remember every year. Neither does anyone. She remembers the blue bicycle, the factory whistle, the first refrigerator humming, and which grandchild cheats at cards. The cake arrives with careful candles. She waves away the speech, asks for another cup of tea, and wins the next hand.
52 words · 11 lines · Free Verse
100th birthdayagingmemoryenumerationimageryunderstatementfree-verse

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