NURSING HOME All day the old ladies are kept in warm rooms. The radiant screen confronts their ruined circle and brightness looms unflagging as a world swims by—as far away, unlikely and preposterous as a star. With rugs on knees and food on trays the days glide into night. The nurses shout endearments and, keeping nursery hours, put out the light. OPTIMISM Every winter I take out the knitting never finished I still hope to find a child it might fit or maybe someone to grow into it