the coffee is bitter
but I sip it anyway
she opens the needlepoint
on her lap and says
she’s going to finish it.
some day, she is alone in
the company of self,
hurricane sandy is sweeping
the ocean, the TV drones in its hardness
and she is stuck in the eye of the
needle attempting to thread gold
and I am watching her
moment by moment.
Written for Writer’s Digest PAD day 3 prompt—write something scary
and for 1sojournal’s PAD prompt—photo prompt
All my November Poem-A-Day offers will be written under the
umbrella of watching my mother descend into the clawed sands of Alzheimer’s.