Old Woman

by Ida Cutler

She shuffles quietly in her
Old woman shoes,
Creased and dumpy from her bunions.

She avoids hurrying strangers,
Bent, tiny,
No one even notices her in the mall.

Yet once, decades ago, she delighted her children
And pleased her husband's eyes.
She cheered her neighbours, some
As old as she is now.

Would her eyes brighten,
Her shoulders lift if
Somebody really needed her again?