Large

This is her standing. She doesn’t stand often; she is too large to heft her body out of the easy chair she sits in all day long. But once and a while she finds deep within herself a hidden strength that motivates her just enough to lift her body from the chair, which is worn, the flowered pattern in oranges and browns mostly rubbed into nothingness and bare threads stick this way and that prickling her arms. But she doesn’t seem to feel them; she doesn’t seem to feel anything anymore. Watch her stand. Her ankles wobble and I always think she is going to fall forward, flat onto her face. But she surprises me every time by maintaining her stance. Sometimes she walks a few feet; sometimes she turns in a circle. Other times she doesn’t move her feet, just stands a moment and then sits back down, shaking the ground with her weight, the chair creaking beneath her. I can’t imagine how the little wooden legs of the chair support her weight, and have for so many years now. But they withstand her body, and maybe even miss her body during the scarce moments that she stands. As soon as she falls back into her chair, her arms coming to rest on the threads that hold her arms, she falls fast asleep and I almost think she has died from the exertion.