and she waits

she sits-
an hour, a year-
head in hand
lost in lost thought,
sipping tea,
biting her nails,
biting her lip,
biting her tongue-
speaking freely - without apology
to those who need to hear her
but won't
and don't.

She fights-
beats back the insistent,
incessant reminders of someone else-
reminders - constant and casual
sit by her,
ask her to pass the sugar,
how she spent her day,
and if she's busy.

She listens-
over and over again-
to the women whose words drown out her own
and spark her own
and amplify her own.

And she waits,
beside the black-eyed susans
who seem to try to tell her
"It could be so much worse than it is."