mother and daughter

as i paint the rooms
one by one,
i see through the small
open door
the old woman,
beside
her daughter. lying
in bed
at three in the afternoon.
both sound asleep
with the tv on.
arms around each other,
as they've always
done, since childhood.
one is ninety
the other forty seven
or more.
huddled together.
the daughter can't walk,
or hardly
speak, or feed herself anymore.
both are near the end
of this life,
but they love
one another,
mother and daughter.

gently, i gather myself,
my things,
and close the door.