Her Time and Place

Her trash, neatly bagged in black plastic, rests beside her mailbox for the Monday pickup.

No truck is parked in her drive; these days her green four-wheel-drive

is across the road, at her son’s home but even so

the windows of her house sparkle with welcome.

the lace curtains gleam white in the sun.

Here she lives in the home she’s known

for 70 years and counting, familiar rooms and furniture

and a smell that says this is where she belongs.

Her back bends under the command of age and her eyes

are clouded and rheumy though still the bright blue

he fell in love with, all those years ago.

Now he is gone, along with the sawmill, the tractor

and the garden that was once his pride.

She seeks balance on familiar furniture,

feeling her way to her kitchen where she moves assuredly,

knowing the place of every pan and pot, every bowl and spoon.

At eighty-plus years she stays steady on in the place

she has called home for most of her life.


she will see the end of her time

and she will be comfortable

in the rightness of it all.

About grannysu

storyteller, writer, poet, gardener, countrywoman
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