What’s left
after the washing is put away
and the dishes are done?

What’s left
after they all leave
without waving goodbye?

I close myself in the small room
with my past
struggles and accomplishments
and reach for . . .

What’s left
after anger and desolation?

What’s left
is an old woman reaching out
to find
what’s left
when she becomes invisible,
alone and

waiting to find out
she will now 


2 thoughts on “Fortitude

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