by Belinda Roddie
She lay on the linoleum, her keys
ice cold in her hands, her gold spectacles
lopsided on her nose. Outside, the bees
were humming and collecting pollen, bowls
of fruit sat on the outside tables, and
the gardener was busy trimming plants
that lined the property. Time moved like sand
shifting across a beach in a slow dance.
She could not move or speak. She could not hear
her phone ringing, or the chime of her clock.
Her body was frozen. The chandelier
above her head swayed, and she could not talk
or scream or cry for help. She simply lay
there, waiting for someone to save the day.