[after Jim Harrison, 'Where is Jim Harrison?']
She woke up, checked every ache, drank water, slept again.
She stripped the sheets from the bed and
hefted a bag of white beans in her hands.
Peeled a dozen blood oranges and sliced
a fennel bulb on a mandolin, slicing more slowly
when her fingers got close to the blade.
She staved off the notion, yet again, that she was too old.
She worked at her list like a dog worrying a bone.
She wandered the aisles of a megastore.
She walked to church then back home again,
sang a testament she can't set aside.