Off the planet
without warning,
as when my father died,
a massive heart attack,
sudden, unexpected,
my first close-up look.
Yet my mother-in-law
slowed,
one less movie
a week,
until one month
she didn’t buy
a bus pass.
Forgot, she said;
settled into her chair,
waited for death to pull up.
My mother
sits in the high-backed
chair inherited
from her mother.
Mail piles up.
The longcase clock
ticks in the hall.
Dust settles
around her like frost.
Originally Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 2.
