Her frosty-headed husband roughly snoring
never moved but grumbled in his sleep
as she went down to feed the cat at midnight,
pausing at the dizzy top of stairs,
then pitching forward, falling through the dark
into the cellar, headfirst, landing on her face.
A cold, clay floor whirling around her,
she lay dead awake, and could sense
the lost years waiting with a cap in hand,
her head above the clouds, a blur below.
Her limbs were children in a heavy sleep,
remote beside her as she lay there thinking
all too clearly, with the cat’s white tail
and purring engine settled at her neck.