Yellow

Yellow

Too cautious

to use tap water

again, having seen it

swirl sulfurish

in her basin

she finally yielded

to alone-ness

self-conscious about her

smile once a friend said

teeth never stay white

after seventy

her hair was

white as well

before her fear

of bathing

Her true friend

was the canary she

kept caged

she extended

her thin pointer

between bars,

the bird perched

just above her broken

nail

she would stay

this way each evening

for hours

deciphering its

tappings, whispering

in response, but

afraid the bird

might flee if ever

she opened the door

It is sunny

the day I visit,

her floor is stained

with urine

jaundiced, she lies

unable to lift

her hollow frame

otherwise I'm certain

she would throw

me out

as a stranger

she allows me

to lift her

thin shoulders

onto the stretcher

There, she points there, that

album

bring it,

for the paper nothing

else

and I place

the brittle album

on her chest,

the young woman

in the photos, smiling

the wedding dress

still white