Shrinking Portrait

Wrinkles crowd eyes once sharp—

tiny bulbs dimming slowly,

shadows folding into faded faces.

Hands, once wide as open roads,

now folded small, knuckles thick with time.

The TV remote slips like a secret

between trembling fingers.

The afternoon leaks through cracked glass,

filling the room with pale silence.

The stories they told me

shrink into quiet hesitations,

and I watch them recede

like a tide pulling from the shore.