suddenly eighty-four
this woman I have watched for fifty years
her back low now
since the old man
moved in with death
and she didn’t
alone and not knowing
how to be alone.
“How do you feel today? ” I ask.
She says, “The problems of life.”
no more than that
each breath a whisper of absence
as little by little she drowns in a puddle.
Charles Chaim Wax
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/and-i-know-i-can-do-nothing-for-her/
