Overcast skies sag with
imminent rains
the air, burdensome with
moisture,
muffles sounds and voices.
A cup of coffee,
its steam adding to the
day’s humidity,
sits untouched
near the morning paper.

Tucked into the overstuffed chair
near the window
she waits, unmoving,
bound by the heaviness
of the day
and of her thoughts.
The bottle of pills
hidden in the pocket
of her robe
call to her.

Contemplation of the struggle
living carries
nearly overwhelms
her damaged sensibilities.
One more day of
the battle,
of wearing the façade
of normalcy
weighs unbearable
on her soul’s
gentle nature.

Her hand moves to the pocket,
her fingers caress
the amber container’s
smooth plastic.
Unaware she begins
to turn the bottle
over and over
in her hand
as she looks at the pattern
of the carpet at her feet.

The phone rings, distant, yet incessant
in the heavy air,
pounding into her consciousness
until she picks up the
receiver in self-defense,
hoping her answer
will bring quiet again
to her private misery.

The voice on the other end,
excited and anxious
speaks in rapid phrases,
with only slight pauses
for breath.
The exasperating explanation ends,
followed quickly by
“Mom, I need you, thanks for listening.”
She hangs up the phone,
puts the bottle back in the drawer,
drops the robe
as she steps into the shower
knowing she must hurry
to make it to work
on time.