Beige walks in and other colors
pale—red loses its anger, blue
its hope. It’s rain on their parade
without water to bring new growth.
She’s unmoved by sun or shadow,
brings herbal tea to her reading chair,
lets it cool. Not thirsty. Not hungry.
Sullen, yet resigned as a beaver
whose dam has been damaged
by unfriendly forces, she finds
the marker in yesterday’s book.
Eyelids droop, the book
falls from her lap, startles her
awake, just enough to get up,
go to bed. But why bother?