Dying to Live

She sits
In silence
Waiting for her day
Hands folded neatly
In her lap
Staring
Into the distance
Looking for life?
Looking for hope?

She sits
On an old wooden bench
In an eerie quiet
In a vacuum of time

Spine arched
In silent surrender
Feet firmly planted
On the ground of disappointment

Bare feet
Dry, cracked heels
Resting on soft, dark-brown earth
Muddying the hem
Of a long, flowing skirt

She sits
And looks
And deliberates

The life to which
She has resigned

Sighs
Slowly rises
Reenters the monotone

Leaving space
For another soul
To come
And sit
And contemplate