Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower;
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind;
In the primal sympathy
Which having been must ever be…
She sits alone,
Nestled in her favorite chair,
Somewhere between faded memories
And the spark of a dream
That reminds her she’s alive.
Maybe the neighbor will visit today,
Somewhere between the dishes and the dusting,
Before darkness comes to vacuum up the hours
Of another lonely day.
The children will call from their sparkling houses
Somewhere between manicured lawns and chlorinated pools,
Five rushed minutes between hello and goodbye,
Increasing her longing
For muddy footprints and scattered toys.
She sets her sandwich–ham and mayo on wheat–
On a chipped plate at a table
Surrounded by 6 chairs.
Today she will sit in her late husband’s spot
Somewhere between her eldest son and youngest daughter
Trying to savor the crumbs of her life.
By Patricia M. Striner