When she stands at the stove she
wears her sleeves rolled up
and eyes that look may see
the tiny faded numbers

Her grey hair braided
and pinned-up
her skin just slightly wrinkled

In slumbers I have seen it all again
in fragments

Her eyes do never rest upon
those numbers
anymore

They've grown into her life as much
as daughter, son, and second daughter have.

*Sometimes, at night, I feel cold iron
touch my arms and legs
I don't know why