Ann Keiffer

The Way You Walk

For all the many years we’ve been together
I’ve always been amazed how I know it’s you
coming toward me even from a long way off.

Before I can make out the brown of your eyes
and hair, or identify jeans or sport coat,
before I can glimpse the features of your face

or the tell-tale ridge of your one curly rib,
I recognize you’re you by the way you walk.
You can be a football field away, on the

other side of a painted sea of parked cars,
making your way to me through a throng of suits
and party dresses at a corporate event,

and I can tell it is you by the rhythm
of your walk, your arms loose, your shoulders square,
an unselfconscious athlete going somewhere.

After loving you for 50 years, I’m still
happy to see you coming towards me. What hurts
is, now I recognize you by the way you limp.

Ann Keiffer                                                                                             July, 2010

Photo Credit: VadO on flickr

 

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About Ann

I am interested in the strange beauty of brokenness, in transforming possibility in difficult times, in how we heal even when we can’t get better, in the alchemy of surrender, in the interplay of light and shadow, in the bounty of everyday wonders, in the gift of laughter…and writing about it, all and everything.

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