Sunday, 19 October 2014

One Hundred and One

I lie in the bed, mainly alone, in this
room that is my last room. I like
the cot sides up, even though
I barely move now. It's safer.
And I like the tray pushed across
the bed, so I can reach things on it,
even though I don't really need them.
I'm thin, and frail, really just the
remnants of a person now. My arms
like sticks, like willow branches, and
my chest as flat as when I was
five years old.

Still, when Eve comes in, I smile.
She wakes me up (I sleep a lot).
She wakes me gently, and asks me,
would I like to see the dog?
The dog climbs onto a chair, and
pushes it's muzzle into my
useless hands, and I
touch it's head, and I laugh.
I laugh and laugh, and my hollow face
fills out, and for a moment, I'm
five years old again. Then I'm tired.
Times for cot sides up ( it's safer)
and time to sink back to sleep.
I sleep most of the time now.
Like a baby.

1 comment:

  1. Your poetry is so powerful Krysia. Would you consider bringing some together in a book format with your art? I could help you create something. Pete

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