Tía Lucia Enters the Nursing Home

All morning my daughter pleading, outside

outside. By noon I kneel to button her

coat, tie the scarf to keep her hood in place.

This is her first snow so she strains against

the ritual, spooked silent then whining,

restless under each buffeting layer,

uncertain how to settle into this

leashing. I manage at last to tunnel

her hands into mittens and she barks and

won’t stop barking, her hands suddenly paws.

She is reduced to another being,

barking, barking all day in these restraints.

For days after, she howls into her hands,

the only way she tells me she wants out.