She lay on her back all morning,
eyes fixed,
maybe seeing something
no one else could see,
cankered hands lifted toward the ceiling,
perhaps feeling the call
of children long ago
grown and gone
yet now still small,
reaching toward her.

Perhaps she saw the face
of her husband
dead now for five years,
ached for the feel of his flesh
once more.

She refused to eat
today,
yesterday
and the day before
and there was no store
of anything
in her eighty-four pounds
that could carry her ninety-nine years
forward for much more than this;
even her organs were shrinking.

No one could get a hint
of what she was thinking,
whether angst or anger
or if maybe she just hoped
that reaching toward heaven
she might find some unseen hands
reaching down to draw her out
of this shriveled prison
and she would be glad
for whatever she could gain
from fingertip to elbow

in shortening her time
left this side of Jordan.

H. Arnett
8/13/14