a withering woman

waiting by the window

rocking chair and walker

juxtaposed by photographs

of contained youth

of nights of tall glasses

and fishnets and golden earrings

and portraits of happy people

by the fireplace and tree

she crochets a scarf

which becomes a shawl

which becomes a blanket

it fills the room with warmth

and she wishes it upon you

wherever you went

wherever you will go

and prays you make your way

stumbling through the door

creaking floorboards leading

to the gift she made for you

but it's a cold and lonely room

one occupying a space for two

but what else would she do?

what else could she do?