the broken wrist

when pulling her up
from the chair where she's
been for hours.
after breakfast
then lunch, then sleeping
with the circle
of others
in front of the loud
tv, her wrist breaks.
she's heavy, she's a lead
weight for the women
that work there,
trying to get her to a
bathroom.
they know her scream.
they've heard this cry before.
so the women, now
two or three, get her
to her feet and call
the first number on the list,
her husband, and then
of children
that must come and take
her to the emergency
room.
the cast is new, white,
molded hard around her thumb.
it wraps around
her sting of purple veins.
the old tendons,
the brittle bones
that served her well
through all these years,
but now fail, having lost
the memory
of what needs to be done.