Her mind is an attic
where bats have built a home
her hands have no jewelry
the jewels are long goneShe sweeps the floor
to rid this home of memories
that hide there like cobwebs
in every corner
Bare feet slide slow
on familiar hardwood floor
no visitors come to see her
anymore.
So she thinks about things
like how deep is the sea and what all lives there
way down
underneath
in the deep.
She mourns the deaths
of lives she has known
by lighting white candles
and sometimes
but not often
she weeps
as she waits
for someone to come
or for her time
to go
home
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