Magic
By C.S. Scotkin
Her faded blue eyes are focused.
not on TV but where?.
Terse one word answers
are driving me to despair.
I seem unable to reach her,
She seems not to care.
Her universe is shrunken down
to a stark, white washed square.
Hospital bed and dresser.
The TV, reclining chair.
Small table beside her for food
waiting for God, she stares.
I rise, I turn the TV off.
Perform my examination.
Really, she’s doing very well
Despite self vegetation.
I ask if we can talk a while
I tell her, it’s regulation.
I ask, what was your favorite day?
She’s startled by such a query
She bows her head, as if in prayer,
starts to open up to me.
She stretches out her bony hands
In case, she thinks, I try to flee.
A short hour passes, I must go.
This change in her is quite a sight.
She’s not so apathetic now,
Those clouded eyes are turning bright.
Before I walk out of the door,
I ask her, do you ever write?
With widened eyes she looks at me.
“You need to tell these stories, true.
You’ve millions of years to be dead
Don’t let your mem’ries die with you.â€Â
“I have no paper, I have no pen,
Of how to write, I have no clue.â€Â
Next day I bring a notebook, pen,
A flower for her bare table,
“So, pretend I’m listening here,
I know you are more than able.
Your children will love to read you,
More than any tale or fableâ€Â.
The last time that I spoke to her,
voice was strong, her spirit lighter,
“I started writing poems, you know.â€Â
This woman is such a fighter!
Exorcising her depression,
This ninety year old new writer!
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