One hand flitted through the once auburn hair.
Twirling it about her finger as she once did in school when pressed with hard questions.
Her eyes float over the pictures hung upon the wall.
That one of her at thirty seems familiar but she’s not quite sure.
However, the woman is a stunner; she wishes she were as well.
Memories come and go like buses on a busy street
She never catches one and remembers her mother’s words.
Don’t run or fret yet. Patience wins in the end.
She once believed such words but her patience now grown quite worn.
She gives a shrug that finger still tightly entwined within her thinning locks.
A feeling comes and she believes it means hunger.
But, she has long since forgotten what those urges really mean.
She pushes to her full stature now a mere 4 foot 10.
Back in the day it was 5 foot two.
The curve in her back forces her head to hang low.
No matter her destination she only sees her feet.
The feet of a dancer who long ago twirled,
Across a stage meant for only her and the watching world.
She no longer remembers the steps of those dances.
But when a sweet melody catches on the wind,
Her small frame begins to subtly swim through the air.
Becoming one with the music no one else is able to hear.
As she shuffles along a brief glimpse of present reality flashes in her mind’s eye.
The children are all gone and she will no doubt, soon die.
A quick turn towards the kitchen, cupboards carefully peeled open.
A soft sigh crosses her dry lips as the hope she had upon entering is put to rest.
Only one can of food remains causing a mental debate.
Is she really hungry enough to eat this now?
The aide won’t be by for three more days
And the social security and food stamps don’t go a long way.
The can remains seated on the shelf for dire need.
Her hands dig through the ten bottles of medicine the doctor swears she needs.
If only the medicine were cheaper there might be some food to spare and perhaps a new plant.
The plants had been her passion an outpouring of her love in green’s full bloom.
Those no longer hung across the living room.
The lids are easy open but a full twenty minutes it takes her to unclasp each one.
Counting out the pills once, twice, thrice each.
There is nothing of import in the refrigerator to wash them down with.
Instead a shaky hand fills a cup with rusted tap water then brings it to thin lips.
Swallowing down her only hope,
To stay alive long enough to see her children’s faces.
To hear their laughter and voices once more light up this dreary space.
To once more feel the pull of her lips that places a smile upon her face.
She knows though they won’t be coming.
Her aide the only face she sees now.
She shuffles back to her armchair well medicated now.
The pangs of hunger still annoy every once in a while.
Her mind slips back into the now normal fog.
It is easier this way to remember nothing at all.
Nothing to long for or be saddened by.
And another day passes as it has every other day before.
Alone in her chair watching shadows play down the hall
Once more wondering who that stunner in the picture was that still hangs upon the wall…
© Copyright 2013, Copyrighted.com Heather M. as Divine Chaos All Rights Reserved.
Photo Credit: Viktor Lyagushkin