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Yes, this is one of the only other poem-ish things I've written that I can halfway stand. It's about the passage of time, which is relentless, and driven by slow fate. And the fact that time does the same thing to all of us, but does it to each person alone.
The Lonely Old Woman
She wanders slowly through her small living space.
Cats run here and there, but there are no kittens.
She walks to the curtained window
Looking out from time to time.
Once, she hears children play.
The sound of the ticking clock can be heard always.
One clock ticking loudly in each room,
Though only one clock is there.
All time is one, and she feels it pass.
The clock always ticks the time away.
She tinkers in her place
Knitting, walking,
Abandoning each as pointless
But returing to them for distraction.
She gets a plate of cookies, a glass of milk.
The plate sits on the table, uneaten.
The cats tip over the glass.
She watches the milk spread over the table.
Aug 5/97 CMSWilliston |
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