Smooth and shapely calves; lover of shiny new shoes and stilettos—but now she can't walk unaided. Limbs like jelly until the nurse hoists her into a chair. Then the arms take over, conducting an invisible choir. The voice, repeating pleas for food, for money. A locked bedroom door ignites a frenzy. The terror of going without. Heartless: those who used to live with her. The mind drifts in and out of all its rooms: a very old mansion trying to preserve some of its beautiful façade. She doesn't remember its architect— only the man who swept her in so long ago and across the threshold. Even from the afterlife, he husbands her living appointments. She'll never stop singing his praises.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.