Two Old Women

Two old women,
you, I,
reaching, searching,
for a ladder to the sky.

Squinting thinly, eyeing
suspiciously
flaxen wings and fair skinned fairies,
using endless, immortal time,
and unspectacled eyes to search out,
fly over,
our ladders to the sky—
seen
seen
though streetlights
look not on their
clumsy rungs.

Clumsy, padded feet
struggle
under darkness, disgusted gazes,
to climb—
find footage,
on the ladder to the sky.

Two old women,
you, I,
my heart beats, visibly pumps my shame,
as footholds are missed,
my gaze drifting to angels
with longing,
with pleas for acceptance,
for wings
not tired and worn—
my heart continues, loudly proclaiming
my futile war against time:
tharump
patta patta
tharump.

And you, your quiet gaze,
guiding your foot, searching with controlled movement—
eyes turned not to fairies
but footholds,
searching quietly,
for your place on the ladder
to the sky.