winter fruit
Her cheeks are wilted apples,
quivering as her breath rattles
through her shrunken lips.
Her hands, once strong eagles,
flying from task to task,
now lay quiet at her sides.
And when her dirtied diamond eyes
light on her reflection
in the cracked mirror, she can only
lift her dying eagles to peck
wearily at her wilted apples,
to drink of the salty rain.

sevoo
(c) early summer, 1992

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