They climbed the steps one behind the other:

the mother in front clutching the rail,

daughter behind watching her mother’s feet;

easing each wary step by simple will.

Similar print dresses passed the knees hid

partially, overly muscular legs,

but the plainness of their faces needed

no paint; from pores and creases slandered as

 unsightly or crude, benevolence glowed,

 turning heads, almost in deference, drawn

to look and nod….even the rude and vain.

As the daughter signed her in, the mother

with a glance choose me to sit beside.  Blessed;

I followed her lead.   We talked of children

and having cared for our mothers in need.

Battered hand’s skin still tough, cracked, told of toil,

perhaps by choice, likely by circumstance,

but not one complaint against her life passed

full, unadorned lips, only sweetness and

praise of goodness and kindness of others.

Her name was called and with daughters’ help she

rose smiling, touching my hand in farewell.

I had glimpsed in her full moon face answers

for questions I could never even ask.