My mother’s face has changed
Wise wrinkles carve paths in what once was smooth skin
I trace those lines with my eyes
The glance a mere grasp of who she is

I embrace her hands in awe
brushing my fingers along hers
feeling palms of sandpaper
unable to say a word

short breaths for there’s
A stone stuck in my throat
Dwelling up cramped tears
Forcing my eyes to close

Her voice barely a whisper
dryer than her hands
telling me to forgive her
for tiny things she did

i beg her to stop
since I should be pleading
thus her voice wanders off
yet so does her touch

I open my eyes in horror
To find a world full of nothing
those wrinkles finally catched up
leaving me empty-handed.