She liked to collect pink lightbulbs
neatly, in her third drawer down.
She knew they would be found;
her secret stash, her weakness
for a soft glow to warm the edges
of the darkening room
as she tapped out time
with hot-pink nails on old hands.
She liked to watch the light
shifting through the delphiniums,
creeping up the sliding hallway
to prod spring bulbs into life.
She liked to watch the dawn,
to catch the first glimmers
of the varnish-streaked sky –
the pink lightbulbs neat
in her third drawer down.