Toward the end, in a windowless cell

How hard can it be to suffer
together with another? A woman
in her dotage becomes the mother-

in-law she used to loathe, the one
who grasped at every opportunity
to sabotage her marriage and yet

had no recourse but call out to her,
night after night as she lay in bed
with a broken hip, having to be turned

to keep the boils from forming. Now
she presses the thin curved spoon
of her back to the mattress and opens

her mouth, sends the wraith of her voice
through cracks in the walls in search
of someone who’ll suffer with her.

 

In response to Via Negativa: Too rich.

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