Her One Question

Her one question

in memory of Mamgu

The old girl doesn't know

what time it is

what time it is she asks

it is her one question

perched on the end

of a brittle pause

of over eighty years perhaps

at her time of life

it is the only question

left to ponder

when everything is settled

the hours alone are ours

maybe it's the last question

we ask before we go

anywhere

when the whole of space

shrinks to a room

our life history contracts

into a wrinkle

we stare down the inevitable

incurable sleep to come

and we feel nothing

what could be more real

to her than now

what else could matter

there is nothing more

to share

but this one expression

when everything is known

and there's nothing to be done

alone in the dwindling

half-light of the finally cornered

fugitive glare

of everybody's dark imagination

perhaps it is the only question

it's still possible to dance to

the last one left that offers us

a variety of answers