tough old bird

i have known wildness,
                                  at 98
                                  tiny like a mushroom
                                  and solemnly pucker-mouthed.
but
                                  hell raises itself to surround her,
                                  when angry.

                                  hands crinkled like old paper,
                                  they blow in the wind
                                  of her breath.

                                  at 98
                                  every action
                                  is a statement of power
                                                         of life
                                                         of endurance
                                  and of the motion of time passing.

wildness
                                  is breathing
                                  when everyone says
                                  moss
                                  grows on your
                                  north side.