Hills go by
We wait in circles for the days to come
We go round and round, and nothing seems to change
Her face is wrinkled and dry
At last her features have become bitter – a new unfamiliar taste separated from the sweet youthful plum
Death appears in her eye frame, ready for his exchange.
Hills go by
We see the lights flash and people stare
We watch her crip and clamp around her broken home
She squints as she lay in the sunroom, sipping her chia
Cats roam by as they leave markings of their own hair
She sits and waits, bubbles of her tea create foam
Hills go by – and one day, they stop
We continue to watch foreigners enter and exit her house, one of them crying
Others cover their mouth as if they were resisting the urge to vomit
The smell was horrid, and we wished no one had knocked
What can I say, we were prying
As the day set, we watched our life turn into a comet
