Stood Up

She had a basket in her lap, red
like the blood that would flow
out her nose(on occasion),
that she filled with apples,
green like the Gremlin
her parents drove
when she was a kid, that took her
to school and CCD. She had a memory
of sitting in the back while it idled,
and when she spoke her voice
was deep and cut up, like talking
into a motorized fan.
But she did not think of this memory.

She wore a white shirt, and on its lapel
was a black and gold button
shaped like a bell, not cracked
like the one in Philadelphia,
but smooth, and flat as a coin,
so it couldn't ring. The bracelets
on her wrists would have jingled
had she moved her hands.
Her black hair
was straight with hooks on the ends,
still warm from the curler upstairs.
In her red skirt
she had a hand-sized pouch
where she kept facial tissue
and cough drops, and a cell phone
that rarely rang. She sat on her couch
until her head began to tick
with the second hand
of the gravestone-shaped clock
that stood next to the TV stand.
It was then she stood up (a dull ringing
from her wrists, not bright
like an altar boy's bells),
undressed, and went to bed.