Growing old

They left her out there all summer and her varicose veins snaked out into the ground and took root.
She drew up nutrients from the soil but little joy came with it. She missed the weight of food in her mouth and the rattle of worn metal tines  against her stumpy teeth and gums. Her shoulders sprouted branches but they came out as old as she was, no array of green buds nor the strength of the sapling. An old woman became an old tree. When she died, they cut her down and on counting her rings, realised they had missed a number of her birthdays, so they added more flowers to her grave. It's hardly what she would have wanted.