She sees her face blurry in the mirror
Her doublechin is endless.
She doesn’t dare look into her eyes.
She remembers her laughter as another life
The trees, animals, rocks, brooks, so unreal.
Her daughers? Do they think of her? Definitely
Not as much as she thinks of them, not even close.
The garlic stinks under her fingernails
Hands once soft, now resemble the scrubbing brush.
The milk boils and she lifts the kettle with her bare hands
Nothing burns her anymore.
What are her dreams, her secret thoughts, her sighs all about?
Nobody asked between dinner and washing dishes.
Now her eyes are tired, but nobody is there to see.
The people she want are far away, or lost behind hazy glows.
Sometimes she is so faint
I fear she will vanish with her next breath.