day after day
babushka tied round
cropped white hair
stretchy pants and rubber boots
she swept the dirt of her yard
humming memories
in the autumn air then
leaning the broom by the door
sat down on an old wooden chair
and pulled off her boots
set them on the
saggy scaly porch
under crumpled shingles
soon to be a ghost
that last fall
her children would pick
through the scarves and cards
finding nothing of worth
they would lock the door
leaving behind
a yard covered with leaves
and a worn out broom