She sits over coffee until it goes cold
and I dump it and pour new.
I get her to take a bowl of soup
sometimes, which may be all she eats.
She doesn’t look bad, considering.
She can’t hear much. Sometimes
she writes to a daughter out West,
but mostly she’s deep in a book
or staring through the plate glass.
Once I asked if someone was
joining her. She looked startled,
like I’d slipped back into Greek.
Then she laughed. It’s our river
she said, pointing out. We watch
traffic. I didn’t get the joke, but
after that she smiled at me like
I was in on her secret. Sometimes
after the rush, she closes her eyes;
and I keep our loud busboy
from waking her. I let her
listen to trucks rumbling past.