in her own chair

i see her

in the chair.
the one by the window,
the side door.
an oxygen tube
running up
to her nose.

her walker nearby.

her lap warmed by an old
blanket.

a scarf around her
bird like shoulders.

glasses on, tipped downward
to do a puzzle,
or to knit.
the ball of yarn

has rolled across
the floor.

ten miles away.
some light

comes in, sparingly as if
there isn't enough

left to give.
weary from a life she didn't
choose.
she'll die in that chair.

the husband asleep in his
room.

a daughter will call and there
will be no
answer.

her tea will be cold.
her eyes closed.