Small Moments

frightened,
by the breathing in of life
others seemingly inhale with no apparent effort.
terrified,
when others don’t see.
alone,
although by choice (at least most of the time).
fading
into prison walls of my own diseased construction
lost
when ruth stopped breathing
crippled
by habits painfully, if lovingly, acquired.
handed
by god,
to you.
guided
like a child by the wrist
spirited back
from savage wanderings
prayed over
prayed with
prayed for
grateful,
for small moments –
shared suppers
garden walks
tea in a cup
some jazz music in the grass
a purple poem
offered up by you –
splinterings of life, now precious
since you have
returned
mine
to me.

judith ann hillard
22 april 1991