When She Sleeps

She sits in her chair by the window.

The shallow napping of the elderly.

Her mouth hangs open,

and a faint snore rises from her.

Her grey hair is matted.

A smudge of dust is streaked over her cheek

from cleaning the cellar earlier that morning.

I go to the bathroom and find a small brush by the washbasin.

I try to step lightly

so the floorboards don’t creak,

I go back.

A red and green afghan is draped over her feet.

I pull it up to her shoulders,

and step behind her.

I kiss her on top of the grey mess,

and lightly brush out the snarls.