Elane Gutterman

My friend, the architect, is designing
her eighty-four-year-old Mom
a new house.
Her Mom ready now
to eschew space and place
down palm-lined suburban lanes
and secluded pathways,
for somewhere in town
compact and mostly on one level
within compass points
of her daily life.

Like a lively wine or robust cheese
her Mom has aged well
adding new friends and activities
to augment fallen away
people and pursuits,
resolved to remain
in the comfort of her sun
drenched surroundings,
though her daughters
and other family
are far afield.

The new home
will have a sleek kitchen
with energy efficient appliances,
yet subtly feature
a ground floor with no
barriers for a walker or
wheelchair, and grab bars
to help personal care or bathing.
There will be an upstairs bedroom
with a private entrance
from outside.

Her Mom says things like,
I need a large sink in the small
laundry to rinse out mops,
hand wash delicates.

We all want to believe
in our future.

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About the Author:

Elane Gutterman is Chair of the Literary Arts Committee at the West Windsor Arts Center, where she was a founding board member. Her poems have been published in The Kelsey Review, Patterson Literary Review and the US1 Summer Fiction Issue.