Joanne Cucinello

She dreams with slow breath rising
in her chest, white haired and soft eyed.
She sleeps now in the day sometimes
and talks to spirits in the night.

No need for clocks anymore, she says
as she watches the sun move
across the sky, leaving shadows on the porch.
So many friends have crossed already
and she wonders . . .
what keeps her waking each morn.

Eyes close again as the last rays
leave the sky and for a moment
she is young. A brief dream passes
through her mind and he is there
sitting at the table waiting, with a smile.
"Oh, my darling" she whispers, "it´s taking too long."

Sighing she stands, awake now
opening the screen door into the house
but the table is empty and so is his chair,
just little Lucy, purring and dreaming too.

A cup of soup, a piece of bread,
food enough tonight.
Slippers shuffle across the room
to the closet and her robe.
Nothing much appeals to her these days
once the night comes.
All the engines are slowing down inside
and she is making ready for her last dream
coming soon to take her to the other side
and he who waits.