The Broken Neck

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.