Last Days

An ironing board set up in a bedroom
with old slacks draped across it,
a sliding glass door to nowhere,
this is what life has come to
inside the sheltered rooms of a refuge,
more like a shrinking womb.

Lost memories piled high in a basket
like last week’s laundry,
while confusion roams the lonely hallways
of blinking fluorescent lights,
being afraid of what is ahead.
These are the rewards for old age.

Time spent inside one’s own mind,
living out past adventures,
while rocking away in a rickety chair,
on the front porch of your last days.

Ann Christine Tabaka was nominated for the 2017 Pushcart Prize in Poetry, has been internationally published, and won poetry awards from numerous publications. She lives in Delaware, USA with her husband and two cats. She loves gardening and cooking. Her most recent credits are: Ethos Literary Journal, North of Oxford, Pomona Valley Review, Page & Spine, West Texas Literary Review, The Hungry Chimera, Sheila-Na-Gig, Synchronized Chaos, Pangolin Review, Foliate Oak Review, Better Than Starbucks!, The Write Launch, The Stray Branch, The McKinley Review, Fourth & Sycamore. *(a complete list of publications is available upon request) Read other articles by Ann Christine.