My Gran

My gran walked past
In blue and white, her
Girth all changed but
The movement right -
And it frightens me the
Future curve of
Frame and wig, of
Flat feet and
A quiet laugh, of
False teeth and
Wrinkled arms.  I have
A headful of
Fright and alarms the sheer
Face of the cliff
Demanding  and wide - how
Do I scale the
outside face of
Growing old? How
Do I contain my
Womanhood that
Far to hold?

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