She lays on her back,
a dull thumping at her temple,
a hundred years old.

A dreary day opens, and her eyes flutter open, then close
with each breath.

Not quite awake, not quite asleep
—in between
light enters, and her eyes shut
back to dark.

Piles of things to do glide by–
a conveyor belt of tasks yet complete,
filling the thumping head with everything she does not want to do today.


A gentle roll to her side
to put weight and pressure on that thumping temple,
to shut off the conveyor belt,

and it works!

For a tiny moment, all goes black
the only thumping she hears is the rain against the roof.

In that tiny moment, this hundred year old body exhales—



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