closing in

the circle
of your mother's life
is getting smaller,
her mind
as soft as the dough
she used to roll
and cut
to make gnocchi.
no longer in her kitchen,
at the red sauce,
no parakeet
green and blue
in the cage whistling
to her whistle,
the laminated list
of numbers hung by the phone,
going unused. how quickly
all her needs
are met now.
a window
a stool, a plate
of food.