Her crimson eyes stares at me

fighting an internal pain
that has long taken its place
upon her decrepit body
her deep dark skin 
clad itself in wounds 
from cancer,possibly
burnt skin resting upon
parts of her body
absent hair upon her crown
old age,possibly
she begin to speak
quiet and slowly
reaching closely for her bedside
noticing the noise of television
residing in some far-off place
her eyes penetrated my soul
burning within me were stories 
like hers
dreadful words of neglect and hurt
crept forth from her raspy voice
her slow stretch to retrieve her drink
the lethargic reach to confiscate another tissue
drowns me into a sea of sorrow
like a thick fog of cigarette smoke
suffocating one’s ability to breathe
her sentences become like broken pieces of a puzzle
sometimes hard to piece together
she extends her fragile hand to me
asking if I could stay just a little longer
remembering the place she used to call home
the neighbors she had next door
the husband that she had once loved
a dog that once ran through her home
her phone left upon a countertop in her kitchen
she gives me another number
one different from the day before
asking me if I saw the child in the corner
and I responded “no” in the negative
asking for me to place upon her foot her shoes
shoes that weren’t there
socks that weren’t lost in between her covers
Internally fighting what would soon become her reality
she beckons me to tell her about my family
I passed to her my camera
with the images of two people
my mom and dad
and she began talking to them
She told them her name and added
“I’m not feeling too sharp”
and I sunk further into my own reality
He is the giver and taker of life
She turned to me and told me
“Don’t be depressed because i’m not”


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