She thinks

She is the unseen one,

unwitnessed in her

solemn duties that she does

on a school morn, among

the pile of bills and

the higher pile of waiting clothes.


She thinks of her children

still asleep that she guards

In their beds,

and she thinks of her job

that she’s lucky

to have, even if it

makes her cry.


And she thinks in

scattered thoughts about

what has gone in the years

since she was left cold

and what this life of

dull routines and present fears

will bring in the hours,

and days and endless

weeks and years

of nothing more

and nothing less to come.