Now, you're a prisoner inside your own home, but your daughter appears, daily. She tends to things and a nurse comes. The daughter plays all the albums beneath the turntable. Blues and Jazz, fill the air. It makes you want to move-move. Round and round you go in circles like you did as a child on the playground.
Once, you were the child.
Now, you are the lady, spinning-spinning like that tiny ballerina in the jewelry box, the one with the sweet chimes, music that sets you free.