The Frame

The night its grip finally tightened
on your mind, we woke to find you
Zimmered to the wardrobe mirror,
shuffling in place, nightgown akimbo,

murmuring undentured please, please,
please, as if there were a way back
through your stooped reflection,
past the thinning sleeves and drooped

cardigans, the years of watching light
wedge from room to room, to a place
deep inside the glass, where you hid
in childhood, and looking up, paused

to catch in the shuddering glare eyes
of one you'd almost met before, forgot,
half recalled, her soft hands quivering
on the hollow frame, trying to get through.
...