She sits in her throne
Two wheels sprouting like wings
Holding the seat aloft
And steady
I gaze at her wrinkled face
A tablecloth in my grip
And wait.
Wait for a tune, or a yell
Or maybe even a throaty giggle
But... nothing.
For once, her eyes shine clarity
Her breath relaxed, hands steady.
Her lips move.
"You're doing a good job." She says.
She smiles kindly. A smile one would
share with perhaps,
a young child, or an old friend.  
I stare for a beat longer, finding myself
Speechless.
Who had she envisioned making the table
As I had been? What memory has cleared the
Internal chaos
To procure such kindness brought upon
her lips?
Had it been a memory of one of her
daughters? Possibly her son? A lover?
Does it matter?
The words "thank you" tumble out
of my mouth as I finish making the table.
I look back
At her once more, and watch as she "adjusts"
the table. Her hands are shaking, and a giggle escapes.
I move on.