Ringing Out the Old Year

Light from noisy streets filters in through shuttered windows.
Ten…Nine…
Water drips down walls stripped, in places, of their paint.
Eight…Seven…
She sits at a table, letter clutched in one hand, aging in an aged house.
Six…Five…
Even the photographs avert their eyes, as unfeeling as her living sons.
Four…Three…
The cold outside is a furnace to the bone-deep chill inside her.
Two…One…
She thinks about dying but dare not commit such a sin.
Happy New Year!!!