Herself at Christmas

She was herself at Christmas time

She sat and smiled and didn't allow

Her thoughts to drift beyond the here and now

Into the road ahead, she didn't delve or dive

She sensed the wasteland on the rise

No matter though, for now I'm here and I'm alive

She watched them open gifts she'd bought

Or sent her husband out to buy

Their eyes lit up but died away

She'd spent so much more than usual, why?

They were brave for her but not themselves

She saw their wince and heard the catch

But all they saw was her and healthy cells

Perhaps it was a dream

She felt it all around and everywhere

The colour of her life had changed

The edges blurred, the vistas gone

The crumbled frame, the yellowed lens

Her home had turned a stagnant pool

Waiting for a tide to come 

Or just dry out and fade away

Little algal blooms grew in her mind and on her face

Through clammy days and endless nights

Make-up would be silly now but she does shine

With pooling tears which turn the tree a blur of coloured lights

Is this her last?

The guests blow up with questions never asked

Later to cry, to deflate with grief

Little explosions bring some relief

The house filled up with roasted air

And through this blur of festive fug

She was herself, perhaps more so in decline

Tweaked by medicines and the ever closing cave of time