Softly the sunlight
caresses
the soft contours
of her face,
waking her gently
to a new day.
With a yawn
she sits up,
on the edge of the bed,
reaches for her glasses,
faithfully waiting
on the nightstand,
as always.
As she puts
her glasses on,
the world swims
into sharp focus,
sharper than she would like.
In those few, precious moments,
between sleep
and being fully awake,
her bedroom,
her house,
the whole world,
seemed pristine,
unsullied.
But with the donning
of her glasses,
harsh reality sets in.
She can see the dust,
the cobwebs,
the chips and cracks
in the painted walls.
Not filth, in no way
a hovel,
but tangible signs
that she is letting things
slip past her.
Once, she kept
an immaculate house,
cooked fine meals,
rather than frozen dinners.
Once, she had a husband,
children to care for,
a reason to
make an effort.
Now,
her life is as empty
as her refrigerator,
her husband dead,
her children grown
with lives of their own,
and little time to call
or come see her.
She felt no bitterness
over this,
it was the way of life,
how things were meant to be.
Still,
it made for an
empty and lonely life.
Those precious, fleeting moments,
before reality sets in,
keep her going,
reminding her
of a life well lived,
of family, well loved,
and the promise
of a better place,
yet to be hers.
Jan 7, 2021
Jan 7, 2021 at 5:03 PM UTC
Softly the sunlight
caresses
the soft contours
of her face,
waking her gently
to a new day.
With a yawn
she sits up,
on the edge of the bed,
reaches for her glasses,
faithfully waiting
on the nightstand,
as always.
As she puts
her glasses on,
the world swims
into sharp focus,
sharper than she would like.
In those few, precious moments,
between sleep
and being fully awake,
her bedroom,
her house,
the whole world,
seemed pristine,
unsullied.
But with the donning
of her glasses,
harsh reality sets in.
She can see the dust,
the cobwebs,
the chips and cracks
in the painted walls.
Not filth, in no way
a hovel,
but tangible signs
that she is letting things
slip past her.
Once, she kept
an immaculate house,
cooked fine meals,
rather than frozen dinners.
Once, she had a husband,
children to care for,
a reason to
make an effort.
Now,
her life is as empty
as her refrigerator,
her husband dead,
her children grown
with lives of their own,
and little time to call
or come see her.
She felt no bitterness
over this,
it was the way of life,
how things were meant to be.
Still,
it made for an
empty and lonely life.
Those precious, fleeting moments,
before reality sets in,
keep her going,
reminding her
of a life well lived,
of family, well loved,
and the promise
of a better place,
yet to be hers.
More crap from my leaky mind.