Her fingers are fussing the big, green
button that holds her cardigan.
Taking pills to remember her stockings.
Getting dressed each morning
to sit in her chair. Her velvet mauve
slippers. A white crocheted shawl.
The television is silent as a wall.
Two raised stripes show she has worn
two bras, but no other underwear.
The clock fingers race and whirr,
eager to have the day done. The world
spins an axis about that chair.
The old–style bulbs fizz and stir.
It seems one is about to burst,
threatening with lengthening flickers.
The old–style bulbs fizz and stir.
It seems one is about to burst,
threatening with lengthening flickers.
Dark. Light. Dark. Light. Dark. Light. Dark.
No comments:
Post a Comment