She’s fine
An old woman she’d been for all of her life.
The gun just confirmed that phase.
The weight of oppression,
Life,
Demands of her time
Aged beyond her years,
It was time for a brand-new change.
Walking in shadows,
of kids and a spouse,
A beloved career left behind.
Misery overwhelms,
Gave way to hospital gowns,
Melancholy was the word of the day.
Electric shock treatment,
Prognosis was good.
Depression arrested.
She’s fine.
See her smile?
On her own two feet
She now stood.
Denial.
“Fine” she was not,
Emotions were paled as she flayed.
The feelings were fraught,
The smiles were self-taught,
To help her get through each day.
Considerate she was,
Left meals, just because.
Flavors of pain,
Aromas of love,
An offering of sorts,
Each a pardon from guilt and the shame.
Found dying in prayer,
For whom some might ask?
Herself,
Her family,
Or God?
Rosary in hand,
Gun dangling,
Messy goodbye assured.
As freshly baked pie wafted in air,
And gunpowder and cinnamon mingled,
Senses molested with the discovery.
Autonomy found in a 22-gauge,
Small caliper allowed death to linger,
Yet, ultimately slew,
The fear the aloneness and rage.
