I watched my mother
amble off balance now and then
in her later years
To hide it
she would
try walking a little slower
on an outing or at a gathering

She slowed down
gradually over time,
Except whenever we stopped
on the side of the road
at an Antique Mall
that she had indicated was a must
from the back seat
as though hailing a cab
—-she may have needed help
getting out of the car,
but once inside the warehouse
of what-nots, woes
and orphaned dreams
She moved at a different pace
closer to her glory days

She became like
Diana and the Golden Apples,
a bit of a marathon runner,
private eye detective,
discriminating purveyor,
leopard stalking its prey,
driven on a quest… gifted with
a built-in scanner capability
as she passed through
row after row
of jammed booths…
She had this thing where
she could find
value in a heap of chaos

After having
Antique Shops all of her life
she knew antiques well

Once she got them in her sights,
she saw how a dull veneer,
once polished, was a gold mine
She saw the carpenter’s
heart and hand in the curve
of the tavern chair,
She saw the blacksmith’s hammer
hit the glowing red metal
forming each branding iron.

She knew
how things were made,
knew what was rare,
what was missing, what was what!

Whatever heart medicine she
was taking,
touching these
things she loved,
time traveling through
the portals they offered
kept her heart beating

These things pulled her
into the present,
feeling vibrant,
reminding her
of who she was
and what joy it gave her
to still be a
Magnificent
Hunter!