THE END OF THE OLDWOMAN
She was an old Hungarian woman.
She had lived in the same apartment for one hundred
or one thousand years.
And every year a new layer of paint was applied
to her kitchen, her living room, her bedroom.
It was a grayish green paint, dull not glossy.
Year by year, the coating of paint became thicker
and the apartment became smaller.
Less sunlight came in through the windows.
The front door became difficult to open.
At the end, the old woman could hardly move.
She could hardly breathe,
the apartment was so close around her.
—from Rattle #34, Winter 2010
Tribute to Mental Health Workers