Here is a prompt for the weekend:
Face, over-wintered by ___________, she sags into
Here is mine (this is a draft, done on the fly, so not so great at this point):
Face over-wintered by age, she sags into the chair
Elmer fashioned out of birdseye maple, the year they married. Its cushion
is bare and shiny, the imprint of her permanent now. Here she nursed
four babies, loved them back from fevers and measles. The rockers
squeak like her bones as she settles to rest in the greying afternoon.
Ice clicks along the window, slipping to the ground and shattering,
as she will one day. In the moment before sleep soothes her, she sees faces
and formsall around her: parents, husband, the babe that did not survive
his first winter. It would be so easy to go where they are, to click down the pane
and settle to the ground. A whistle in the distance: tea is ready on the stove.