Three more

Abandoned

No one comes to me anymore. I am old. My body
weakened by rain and broken by rust.

What’s in this life made useless?

I remember Sylvia. She used to sing to me.
Songs about kittens and flowers and dolls.
Some days we’d pretend that we could touch the sky,
that we could fly to the tallest tree.

Is this reason enough to remember?

The sniggering of the grass is too much to bear
as it grows by inches to cover me.

another:
A pile of laundry stands between you and me
I think I'll fold.

another:

The air is a claustrophobic thickness that chokes
the living. And we are no more remembered than the strings
of seaweed that cling to the legs of those who've gone sea-sunk