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Annie
There was a time when my eyes were younger,
When I thought a smile could come in singular form.
I never quite understood the weight she carried,
Or the things a mother can quietly give up.
Every Sunday, I would find Annie in her little shop,
Selling other people's songs in plastic cases.
I was among those who occasionally stopped by,
Staying long enough to become a familiar face.
She had a smile that was difficult to forget,
One of her front teeth missing whenever she laughed.
And every conversation warmed the atmosphere,
When she started talking about her little children.
I heard about the heavy things she had to carry
Before I learned she carried them alone.
And I wondered how she could hide her weariness,
With her welcoming smile and tender voice.
The world eventually stopped listening to CDs,
And somewhere along the way, life took me away from Annie.
But between those Sunday afternoons and my aging eyes,
I finally learned what it meant to keep going.
