May 19, 2020The Incomprehensibility of Order
Whose turn is it
anyway? she jokes
to poke fun at me,
while I, the oldest,
hide my guilt.
If the world were fair,
her hair would
still be her own
instead of a wig.
For the rest of the day,
no one mentions it again.
When the food is ready,
we each take turns
filling our plates.
A cooper’s hawk
swoops down
in a failed attempt
to capture a chickadee
at the birdfeeder.
We sit in her yard,
where the small fire
in the ember pit
burns slowly.
