Diminishing Giants

He fumbles with the jar lid, hands no longer stone,

shaking like brittle branches in a weak wind.

She hesitates mid-sentence, voice thin,

a threadbare cloth unraveling on the edge.

At dinner, shadows grow where strength once stood.

Their eyes search for footing on uncertain ground.

I watch them shrink into softer shapes,

smaller figures framed by fragile bones.

The giants I knew are folding inward,

sinking beneath the weight of years,

and I am left holding the quiet space

where once their voices filled the room.