Her Little House

Lamps in stained glass
Little pools of gold
Like islands of ossified silence
Low seats and cushions on the floor…
..to keep her from drifting away.

And the fragrant air is heavy with unsaid words..

She cleans the counter tops
With her little yellow duster
As she tries to muster
The strength
….to gather her Uncollected Thoughts.

That no shelf can hold….