Silver-haired, slight-boned: a circle of them 
in wheelchairs whenever the sun shawls 

the garden in some kindness. She is the one 
in the phone video recording who breaks 

into song and beats time valiantly with her hands.
You don't know if your mother, in quarantine 

at a care home with other octogenarians, 
will live to ninety or a hundred. Or if one 

of these days, a text message will appear 
on your phone, bearing news of her death. 

Pine trees rain dry needles over the ground,
loosening even in the absence of wind.   

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