poem, Poetry, Red Line Wine

Adam’s Rib

Adam’s Rib

July 17, August 6, 1994

They were holding hands,

This old woman and man,

Rocking in time,

Fingers knotted,


She spun out a rhyme.

The old man raised an eyebrow,

As she began to tell it so,

Every word he knew he’d know,

All the same, he let her go.

“I remember.” She would start,

And a smile would race across his heart,

He knew this one part for part.

As she spoke, his thoughts drifted far away,

To enchanted lands of another day,

Her words could always light the way.

She was the strongest soul he knew,

Always managed to muddle through,

There seemed nothing that she couldn’t do.

She fought the battle, one the war,

Showed them what the fight was for,

It made him love her all the more.

She was not as she seemed to be,

Impulsive and brave?

Courageous and free?

She was tired, lonely,

Fighting desperately.

She rocked and she talked,

He listened along,

Her stories, to him, a familiar song,

Good versus evil, right over wrong…

For hours, the audience was spellbound,

She loved to talk as they gathered around,

Though it was his words that were always the most profound.

Of what was meant and what was willed,

Lessons of life and fate fulfilled,

Her story told, the dragon killed,

The youngest child said to the old man,

“Grandpa, I don’t understand,

What did you do in the enchanted land?”

She looked at him with a love so grand,

As he smiled and said,

“I held her hand.”