She looks at me with disdain in her eyes
as I pile today’s spoils onto the bedside table.
Grapes, juice, trashy magazines
sandwiches, because she hates hospital food
says she wouldn’t feed it to her dog.
I attempt an engaging smile as she glances at the offerings.
Come on, I silently plead,
eat something dammit.
She sighs, shakes her head, and turns away
Well I guess it’s going to be one of those days.
The chair beside her is comfortable and old.
I wonder privately how many others
Have rested their weary bones there
whilst watching over a loved one
There’s no response when I take her hand,
it’s not her fault she’s like this
Hell I’d be the same.
But I’m doing my best; I’m giving it all I got.
Sometimes I wish she still had that stubborn
fiery look in her dark eyes
the one that could terrify and command an entire room.
But it’s been replaced with a defeated acceptance
that scares me more than anything.
Conversation falls flat.
My hollow smiles do nothing to ease her pain.
She loathes her situation,
lying in that horizontal prison.
I’ve never known her to be so sad
all through the years,
with nothing to keep her company
but grapes, juice, trashy magazines
and her tears.