Aunt Mary is losing her grip
on the polished clothesline pole
supporting lines of string
where freshly laundered shirts
still flap in the breeze
of her once perfect memory.
Unsettled, she sits at the window
facing the north wall
of the rehabilitation center
she now calls home.
Everything has been sold off --
her handmade furniture
her collection of quilts --
sent by high school students
from her teaching years
have been misplaced.
She can no longer
read them over and over.
She mostly sits and stares
at the unrelenting wall --
perhaps dreaming of her
lost vegetable garden --
as she picks imaginary lint
from her wrinkled housedress.
Wild Goose Poetry Review
2010
Last Issue