Ellie’s Fingers

are drumming with a parade of bony
fingers against the faded arm rest

after many of life’s bus stops, all that’s left
is touching skin to metal,
restraints tightened in her Gerry chair.

These same digits once firmly gripped
a woodsman’s axe,
knowing how to bite into
a stubborn birch tree. In
1890 looked after eleven siblings,
momma’s little helper

baking bread then milkin’ with poppa.
The thunder of World War 1
meant growing up quickly with
four brothers crossing
an ocean to join the fight

finally everyone home to work
the farm. Chickens and pigs ‘n goats
with children arriving like pigeons,
the good Bible reminding all
to propagate with gusto.

One by one parents and siblings
back to dust, into God’s
hands. Ellie’s in a nursing home, today
she’s 101.

© Richard L. Provencher