Still Untouched
It is cold today.
A cup would be nice.
I shuffle toward the kettle.
A half-open window
sends the periwinkle curtain
brushing my face,
tickling my nose
before retreating to the sill.
Ah.
I forgot to close this one.
The old noodle isn’t what it used to be,
but it hums along.
My wrinkled fingers press the switch—
harder than necessary.
I should call John
to fix it.
He hasn’t been around in a few.
Busy, I suppose.
Young families need tending,
and JR’s third strike
isn’t helping.
Oh.
John is here.
The black suit fits him well.
Did I forget a meeting?
Susie pulls in beside him,
her navy A-line swaying
as she reaches
for a lingering hug.
My cream tweed
and single pearls
should fit.
I glance down—
but why?
I haven’t worn this in years.
Too heavy for the heat.
Well.
Except today.
It is chilly.
Can’t feel the pearls.
The kettle.
Forgot again.
Cars line the curb.
Friends—
more memory than presence—
move toward the house.
Mine.
The drawing room
fills quickly.
No one greets me.
Did I nod?
Susie is serving tea plates and small coffees from the pass-through window.
Good girl.
Surely it isn’t my birthday.
That was two months ago.
Susie called—
they chipped in for Denny’s.
Larry and I loved it there.
So what am I forgetting?
Susie’s tight expression and John’s reddened eyes still me.
Can’t hear a thing.
Oh, good.
Gladys is here.
She will know.
My John sure can move fast.
Can they just hush?
I can barely hear with all the whispering.
“John, I’m so sorry.”
“Miss Gladys,
I’m the one who should be sorry.
For you to find her like that.”
“She looked peaceful.
Thirty years we were friends.
A bit wobbly at the end but peaceful.”
Who did she find?
We spoke on the phone last week.
I know we did.
Did she say something?
She’s been mixing things up lately.
I have to repeat everything
to get it through that gray wig.
I have to think on it a little.
I hope no one’s in my chair.
I retreat to my corner.
Just a moment.
The basket of mending waits.
Still undone.
Too long around the ears.
It stops her hearing the first time.
Oh, yes. Larry did good.
Silence settles over me
like warm air.
Then I remember the kettle.
Still untouched.
The chill is gone.
The tea—
like most days now—
forgotten.
