Her kitchen, quiet, layered with dust,

aged a decade deep,

Her table laid and draped in cloth

before she fell asleep.

 

The oven framed her bread of crust,

sliced up for all to keep.

Time unwound and ticked no more,

before she fell asleep.

 

Three shirts to dry lay mouldy, in a musty

laundered heap.

Her life had spun in cycle,

before she fell asleep.

 

A glass of milk half-full of drunk

had soured, not to keep.

It frothed a gurgled gasp,

before she fell asleep.

 

Four walls had closed to smother

when life began to seep

Love had drained her Mother breast

before she fell asleep.

 

From dust she came to taste this earth,

she promised not to weep.

Life’s arid tongue had licked her brow

before she fell asleep.

 

Her God had posed a challenge

no prayer was fit to meet.

Then cancer blew a kiss goodbye

before she fell asleep.

 

Her life lives on in shadows

aged some decades deep

I whispered, not forgotten,

before she fell asleep.