Her chair was placed by the window
so she could face the outside
though there was nothing much to see
but the yard, a tree,
an empty driveway.
Her flower gardening days were long past,
so nothing drew her out there
except her chair on the front porch
where she sat when the weather was warm
and watched the few cars drive by,
the road not traveled by many.
Any family came on Sunday afternoon,
and then her home was alive with kin—
men smoking, women talking,
and grandchildren playing in the yard.
Most days, though, she was alone
with ghosts of memories,
and it was hard,
just watching Video Village on TV
and looking out the window.


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