“Pass me the TWINE, SONNY.” Pots CLANG into the box. The controlled chaos of packing up a life expressed in the jumble and noise now labeled “kitchen.” We stare, inwardly mystified, outwardly BLAND. It’s one of those life-altering moments: a family elder about to move from living alone to “independent living.” We keep our expressions carefully BLANK, yet friendly, as the group of disparate individuals feel their way into a supportive, united web around the need.

Georg’ann

Force now FRAIL
Oblivious of PLACE
Green eyes BLANK.

Heather