She sat in her staining chair that we took from home,
it is our over eager commiseration for the state of things now.
She does not fill it, cannot sit back in it,
and she faces away from the window.
The light shines in on her like a prophecy
or some religious vindication.
A weakened elbow
rests upon the arm of the chair,
her face in her hand, old age in her skin.
Across the glass are pasted four paper birds
made during craft hour (to keep the time at bay).
Their silhouettes are stuck onto string slung across the transparency:
and it is beautiful, it is sad.
They are her loneliness.
Their shadows fall across the wall always in her eye line -
but they say she has lost vision in the right eye.
We sat in unwarranted silence and saw the thunder of rain
On slates, behind her head, through the window, into the sky.
We heard its end chime.
And she, looking between us said
“I have not seen rain in such a long time”.