Her Castle
Tea stains, cat hair, dusty Persian carpets; all the drapery is molting. The rasp of her breathing fills the whole house. I hold a hankie over my nose to filter the Vick’s-flavored air.
Grandmother paces; propped at each arm by her sons, she counts as she walks. Each step, a misery. The mantle clock grinds out three a.m. as I wonder how long our vigil will last, ask myself why I’m here after all these years.
In-laws I’ve never met sit on carved walnut chairs and eye me askance. I finger the lip of an old Chinese vase, toe the hallway runner that wants to unravel.
my back aches
as I move near the heat vent,
lie flat on the floor
inhaling my own fatigue
I haven’t bathed for days
The twin aunts in the parlor fold and unfold their hands,
exchanging dry whispers. Their postures reveal their identical
thoughts: maybe tonight, surely tomorrow. . .
It’s my turn to walk at her side. I study my grandmother’s
powdered face, coiffed hair, and reflect on her determination
to die on her feet—dressed for the theater, attended by all
the kin she commands.
a champaign
Pekingese on the divan
when I try
to pet her, she wags her tail
then bites my hand
contemporary haibun online 19.3, Dec 2023
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