Rest Home

each morning is the same
they wake her
she risks a stretch and
forecasts rain
it is routine

she is readied for the wait

some soft foods
a mild purgative for comfort
delicate nods with Caruso
vigil on the porch for the postman

a dog barks
an attendant stands poised
she cranes for the gate hinge creaks
there is none
white knuckles

she is punctured with sleep
too much ruckus would be fatal

like the letter
read by the old to the new
as a precaution
we regret…of a stroke…last night