one hundred human years

Each tiny break

In her chain: a memory,

Etched in bone.

 

Carried forward,

Even when

She’d rather not.

 

Try to forget:

She can’t.

Try to remember:

 

It’s gone somewhere, but

Written upon her beautiful face,

And a little dismay.

 

Alone in a home,

Disowned by the younger;

Now cared for by strangers.

 

I watch her stare

Out the dining room window;

Letting the rain into

 

Her quiet, routine life of

One hundred human years.

Patiently waiting,

 

Watching,

Breathing,

Being.