I stood atop the stairs <br />that overlook the parking area, <br />watched a stooped, white-haired lady <br />inch along with her walker, <br /> <br />white hair and coat amid <br />the sea of black asphalt. <br />I grew tired, even watching her, <br /> <br />then descended the stairs and crossed <br />the asphalt into the laundry room <br />assuaging my mind with the cliche, <br />'She must be so patient! ' <br />and thinking that was the end of that. <br /> <br />Coming back out of the laundry room <br />five minutes later, I passed her <br />sitting on her walker to rest. <br />'You have to be so patient! ' I said <br />pleasantly in the <br />necessity of conversation. <br /> <br />'I must have been behind a door, <br />the day they gave <br />out patience! ' she replied, <br />and told me of three surgeries <br />that have left her this way <br />for the past three years. <br /> <br />'So I just go on like this, ' <br />she smiled, as gracious <br />as a hostess. <br /> <br />'Are you getting <i>more</i> patient? ' <br />I asked, hoping to hear someone, <br />somewhere reporting palpable progress <br />at something. <br /> <br />'Ask my husband about that! ' <br />she said, and I walked <br />back up the stairs <br />with my still-good legs, <br /> <br />having heard from her exactly <br />what I would say <br />were our positions reversed, <br /> <br />and the stairs were like the years <br />to when I may indeed <br />be standing in her shoes.<br /><br />Max Reif<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/time-s-scythe/
