The Old Woman

She’s seen better days and worse.
Her cats think she sits around too much.
Her son, also, sits
too much, which
doesn’t stop him from
judging her sitting.

She cuts and sautés
onions and carrots for soup;
adds a little bay leaf
and garlic and uses the aroma
for air freshener and mood
swings. 

The old woman doesn’t wear shoes
schleps around in bare feet or
white cotton socks. She loves
the feel of pajamas in the daytime
and her cats also like the soft warm feel
of them. They think it’s night
when she sits in the chair
with her night things around her. 

The old woman’s ex-husband
comes for dinner every couple of weeks.
They have hot dogs and hamburgers
and discomfort for the hour or so
he stays. Why this continues
she doesn’t know—it’s just become
a thing they do. 

The old woman has memories: trips to Mexico,
many boyfriends when she was young, two
babies she raised. When she begins to forget
she has her boxes of photos—she needs to
fix up some albums. What was she thinking? 

I’ll just die at home, she decides; then I
won’t have to sort through all those
damn pictures. She gives the pot
a stir, and a tear falls in for seasoning.

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Published on July 2, 2010 at 2:47 pm  Leave a Comment  

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