the view from her

Hospital bed in the living room with view of the cupelo.

 Some years ago, mom wrote a poem called "Sick of Waiting." It's very depressing and maybe not even a poem but a plaint. Anyway it seems apropos now.

Forever in my bedroom
outlining with my eyes
window frames
shadows on the curtains
religiously
taking pills, painkillers
heat and ice packs
when finally it dawns
that no one knows
how long it's going to be.
Only time will tell.