Tag: Win Couchman

The Parade – A Poem By Win Couchman

The Parade

Dinner over, we
amble past the library,
turn left and begin
our journey.

In the hall we join the
residents’ parade.

Tall guy, bent a bit,
hiking with his cane.
Fellow travelers in
chairs, walkers with,
without oxygen.

Women, pretty, plain,
white haired, oftener
than not not coupled.

Progress to D-20 moistens
my eyes, emotions,
mind tangle squeeze
and expand.

As of today, my
walker is in my closet.

Bob and I hold
hands, walk home.

Win Couchman, 11/11.

All Rights Reserved.
Posted here with Win’s kind permission. 

MOTHERS’ DAY by Win Couchman

Mothers’ Day

Small,
I knelt
on ungiving
linoleum.
Restless,
peeking,
uneasy.

Around me
larger backsides,
bigger shoes
than mine
loomed below
bent shoulders,
bowed heads.

My mother
and mother’s mother
and assorted saints
of their generations
were kneeling.

Fifty years
and more
have gone.
And I remember:
They prayed.

Reprinted here with Win’s permission.  From her book:  “Don’t Call Me Spry:” Creative Possibilities for Later Life.   Harold Shaw Publishers.  1990.

Photo of Lake Michigan by Karl Olinger.

Guest Artist: Poem By Win Couchman

FIRST WORSHIP

The teakettle, heating
Mutters.
Old elbows on the
Counter
Support my head.

First worship
Always free.

Published with permission from Win Couchman.

Win is the author of “Don’t Call Me Spry” Creative Possibilities for Later Life (Harold Shaw Publishers, 1990); and a co-author of other books with her husband, Bob.  “First Worship” is a new poem.