Genevieve at the window

Genevieve at the window 
watches for signs 
of spring– 

        cherry and plum pops bright in the nose 

        the great green return of gentle shade
It is January.  

The neighbors pass 
on by. Children, 
like conifers, grown 
are long gone. There used to be
a blue pool,
dogs, sometimes 
a husband...

Still Genevieve 
clutches her red 
walker waiting–

        bath aide on Wednesdays
        oxygen drone in the dark
Boredom spreads like black
eyed Susans in summer.

She thinks she will last

until then.