Poetry

Old Woman

Old Woman
Sitting alone, old,
a woman in her living room,
the drained, blue-gray wash of her eyes
staring down deep into a memory,
the curtains closed…
filtering in soft, amber warmth
in a glowing patch
over part of the carpet and her forearm,
transforming several hairs over her cracked skin
into fine, fiery filaments,
a warmth she resisted
from somewhere deep within
her enclosed, shrinking world—
insisting… mutely insisting to herself
that all was dark and cold.

Copyright © 2015 Scott Schuleit