By Corey Mesler
--
Saskia has gone deaf.
No more the call of
the wild. It falls on
stone. She can still
sing, loud enough to
disturb the quidnunc
neighbor, her song of
being, which I love,
which she herself hears
only in her heart. It’s
rough growing old,
so much dropping away,
lost. I move as gingerly
as she does. She gets
up slowly from her outdoor
mat. I hold the door for
her like a gentleman, just
as someone holds it for me.
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