Has it not got down as thin as the homeopathic soup that was made by boiling the shadow of a pigeon that had starved to death? - -Abraham Lincoln

She woke in the middle of the morning

Or was it late at night-cold

sheet was thin, too thin

to protect against the front

that had settled in, after she fell

asleep, after cleaning foodstuffs

from her father's cupboards

Some frail bird had hit their door-knocked, forced entry, impatient

She slept alone, in a silent house

with none but birds at the window

where they had built a shaky nest

To bring on sleep within the wicker

she prayed for her father's sleep

in his new room-so like her son's dorm room

square, rectangular, ivy old

She awoke-made instant coffee from a jar

with a stainless steel spoon

She prepared-to return

To sell his car-his house

To find a hotel near the nursing home