These early seventy years have betrayed her,
She never saw it coming.
Her powerful ego failed to respect the bones and muscles of her core.
The stone statue of her frame gradually crumbled,
By the insidious attempt to starve it.
She won this battle, but at what cost?
The inability to walk, sit, stand for any length of time
No relief from the pain except at rest,
undisturbed numbing sleep her friend.
Extending each day fraction of minutes,
‘til half the day she’s in her cocoon,
The sanctuary of linens and quilts
a way of survival.
