There is always one more.
She opened the door.
Her chair was waiting.
She sat.
Folded her coat across the back.
Placed her purse to the left.
Slipped off her shoes.
Her body knew the order.
She straightened her back.
Drank some water.
Waited.
One by one, they entered.
Sat opposite her.
Spoke.
Some lowered their voices.
Others did not.
She listened.
Nodded.
Grievances.
Disappointments.
Indignities.
All forgotten by morning.
Only to find her again tomorrow.
Outside, the light changed.
She remained.
The last visitor entered.
Sat opposite her.
Said nothing.
Placed a hand over hers.
Whispered,
“You can leave now.”
She slipped on her shoes.
Picked up her purse.
Unfolded her coat.
Stood.
Then remembered.
It was time to make dinner.