She wakens early remembering br her father rising in the dark br lighting the stove with a match br scraped on the floor. Then measuring br water for coffee, and later the smell br coming through. She would hear br him drying spoons, dropping br them one by one in the drawer. br Then he was on the stairs br going for the milk. So soon br he would be at her door br to wake her gently, he thought, br with a hand at her nape, shaking br to and fro, smelling of gasoline br and whispering. Then he left. br Now she shakes her head, shakes br him away and will not rise. br There is fog at the window br and thickening the high branches br of the sycamores. She thinks br of her own kitchen, the dishwasher br yawning open, the dripping carton br left on the counter. Her boys br have gone off steaming like sheep. br Were they here last night? br Where do they live? she wonders, br with whom? Are they home? br In her yard the young plum tree, br barely taller than she, drops br its first yellow leaf. She listens br and hears nothing. If she rose br and walked barefoot on the wood floor br no one would come to lead her br back to bed or give her br a glass ofwater. If she br boiled an egg it would darken br before her eyes. The sky tires br and turns away without a word. br The pillow beside hers is cold, br the old odor of soap is there. br Her hands are cold.