Quagmire
amble
waddle
search
she strains at her walker
prowling the home's halls
shoe on one foot
bare on the other
in an other worldly time
her soft footed tracks
are marred with circumstance
"where is my shoe?" she wails
a quagmire to be free of
wanting to emerge
sure footed from this hobbit hole
I find her soft black loafer
near her bed
slip it on to her bare foot
like a snap of Cinderella
her discomfort subsides
a "thank you" chipped from rounded shoulders
sometimes a stranger can right hapless motion
when full sight is no longer stitched to an independent will
sometimes things are not exactly in the right place
not fitted with precision
when we can't see what lies ahead
like the end of something hanging over us
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