wizened, gnarly fingers glided over patterned walls
velvet and wood, flabby skins meet printed daises
fingertips helllo'ed their greetings, dear friends giving each other
air kisses, from puckered lips and fuschia-stained teeth
the old lady still know how to style eh?

what is she searching for?
ah, there, on the kitchen table
a cup of tea left by that sweet girl that looks for her
old lady still remembers the perfumed air the girl carries around,
like a mini purse with her cigarette case or notebook that matches her shoes

arthritic knees wobbled and swayed,
the jazz masters would swoon over the rhythm
why has she not carried the stick with her?
dear lady, white veils over your corneas
are no match with satin nightgowns you know?

her teeth she grits, jack the frost visits her an hour ago
he left her banks of snow to carve sculptures of angels on her lawn
she knows the are two more visitors before the night is through
she felt it, as she felt blood, the still lakes coursing through her
ripples they made over saggy skin , putting circles of red all over her jowly necks


here they come, wings beating, noise over feet planting on tiles
they introduced themselves, as if all those encounters beforehand
are to be dismissed as casual and insignificant, oh but she knows them well
her husbands and sons all wax rhapsodic during their times,
though she is surprised that Hades has 
come personally to welcome her, all the others merely mentioned Hermes

would they care for tea, the girl has prepared a pot
only chamomile and sugar, she's afraid
they voiced their no's, they are quite pressed for time,
Hermes is due for an appointment in a minute at another town
and Persephone is making dinner 

ah, should we get going then,
the old lady has been waiting a while you see
she's been very patient all this years
she proffered her hands, a beatific smile forming
and an aria clumped in her throat