It’s just a matter of time
Uncle Eugene’s breaking down.
Murmurs come from the room down the hall -
Surgery. Blood clot. A third kind of cancer.
“It’s just a matter of time.”
But for now, I’m laying by the fire,
warmth seeping into my bones.
My grandparents are alive,
one falling into incoherence,
but not bad yet.
My mother is here.
My father is upstairs.
We are under one roof.
And I am escaping into a written world
by the warmth of the fire.
The world outside is cold,
and eventually I must face the chill
for the sake of my dog
and because time marches forever forward
with graceless strides.
But for once, my mind is calm,
and I will drape myself with this moment
when the wind picks back up.
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