USA

genequill@aol.com

Tuesday Visit

the nursing home
her small room
where blinds shut out the sun
and the plastic bag
of discarded clothes smells
of body excesses
is empty

we know where she is
down the long hall
winding past other small rooms
that groan
and doze
indifferent to flickering
tv screens
to a daylight corner
that cages
the mute music of two birds

there she sits
half way in half way out
of a wheeled chair
communicating silently
with her her green and yellow
companions

and memories
that reach back more than
ninety years
disappearing as quickly
as they surface

she greets us
with a look that asks
who's bothering me now
in a language
only she understands

at last a light in her eyes
explodes
in a happy laugh that somehow
remembers me
my funny hat and canvas shoes
but calls my wife
her daughter
by her sister's name

we roll her chair back
through the winding hall
nodding at empty faces gathered
around the big clock
minutes ticking away
until it's time
for dinner

apple juice
creamed spinach
pasta salad
warm biscuits

though we know
she'd so much rather eat
the box of chocolates
we brought

© Copyright 2000, Gene Williamson.
All Rights Reserved. Printed By Permission.