at ninety two

at ninety two
she's still picking out
wallpaper,
still shy,
her hair done in a glorious
silver
loaf
upon her wide forehead.
blue eyed in the light.
i want something similar,
she says.
can you find me something like
this? she waves to the room
as if to change it
now. there is subtle
bling on each wrist.
a diamond on her finger.
her nails done
yesterday by a daughter
who
comes by.
she sits on a blue velvet
chair.
her desk is large.
marie antionette would
have loved it.
her penmanship is
exquisite
as she writes a check
then delicately
with her
long veined hand
shakes mine.