Why I Didn’t Take Her Picture   She was asleep when I arrived. I wanted to take a picture, a keepsake — this is what one hundred looks like: withered, gaunt, a little closer to the end, the system shutting down. I sat with her in silence for a while. This is what one hundred looks like — who knows what sorrows crowd her heart? Why would I want to know? This isn’t like books, she’s not a movie, not a photograph — she’s just a human being — look at her. She’s everyone she’s ever been — a wife, a heartbroken grandma, a happy, laughing little girl. Her breathing is the purr of a cat.               She wakes up smiling, alive.     © Michael Fleming Brattleboro, Vermont March 2020