Gnarled

the floor smashes into her wrist twisting the limb she didn't see the floor, wet aged 100 her mobility is stress heavy like being priced out of a home her fall of unexpected angles with balance of nature, near gone sometimes a mis-fire between mind and body her living in strange places, sometimes a drift of confusion poking out from my mother's cast purple fingers swollen Cuban cigar fat gnarled in a body that pushes her down like a heavy window slammed shut she sees each short walk as a victory when resistance is a national anthem when the puzzle of gnarled still allows a place to breath still allows a way to seek higher ground