banquet

She suffered them, these end of journey caretakers. Some mornings, she spoke their language, took the cloth from their hands and wiped her own face,
took her own teeth and forced them into the space that was her mouth. Other mornings they shouted GRANDMOTHER, wanting her to do things she could not comprehend. They uncovered her, washed her and left her cold while checking her dressing, her catheter, her purple feet. She cupped her
stiff fingers that could no longer close into fists. Soon, the table under the lemon tree, thick bread and lamb stew, the chair that was hers.