by Andy Mitchell
The following poems pay tribute to my mom’s sister, Wanda, who has always been an inspiration to me. I will never forget her kindness as an aunt (and neighbor for eighteen years). Some of you might know that I am an inveterate walker. But I will have to walk to Buenos Aires and back to equal her output. Dedicated, reliable, and good-natured, she has set a standard of human dignity without meaning to. For she has done so merely by being herself.
Sitting in your chair you wish you could
go for a good long walk.
But you’re failing. After all
these years I can’t imagine
the mileage you’ve logged
each spring, summer, fall, and winter
around this village. It has to be a record
no one will ever touch.
And now that you must
remain inside against your wishes
you merit the rest sitting by the window, mark-
ing time as the sparrows glide
past your eyes falling to the faded front walk
surely missing your outgoing stride.
Walking for Wanda
Tonight I’m walking for Wanda
heading homeward, westward
into the dark.
Tonight I’m walking with Wanda
arm-in-arm through the snow
and the cold.
Tonight I’m talking to Wanda
who can hardly hear anymore, even though
she still listens;
still shows me the way as I wander,
lighting a path as she stirs
in her hospital bed,
while I revel in the inclement weather,
rejoicing in movement, even if it takes me farther
into the dark.