I helped her with her coat today

I helped her with her coat today.

The buttons felt too small.

Her fingers, thin and tracing grey

veins against the shawl.

Knuckles swollen, a soft ache

held in the joint.

The skin like parchment, about to break,

showing each point

where life had pressed its mark.

She didn't flinch,

just stood there in the fading dark,

a silent cinch.

These hands that smoothed my hair,

that worked the dough,

now hold a quiet prayer,

and let me know.