Lily sits in a high back chair
her vacant eyes stare into limbo
soft music plays in the background
her ears do not hear the notes
she has a pink scarf at her throat
hiding her wrinkled skin
on her chest her baby rests
snuggled in a shawl
a mother’s tenderness
can’t be mistaken
her thin fingers caress that child
with delicate slow movement
over and over again
and no one can prise that doll
from her even though
the lunch bell rings