Though my mind tries to grasp the words
to make sense of this,
all that comes to me is a sound,
and I feel as if I may pass out.
I jolt up in my sleep,
hot and cold,
scared and dazed.
A shriek will burst past my dreams
and drown me back in to the real world.
Feet thump from next door,
At times, you need to yell
more than once to wake her up,
and this scene tends to take place
at least twice each night.
We call them her “scares”,
for they are skewed dreams of dead loved ones
or those same souls set upon her.
It’s all quite sad that this small,
frail old girl
will spend the rest of her days locked up
in her own head.
Two years in our home
and her brain is set back.
She must count the cash in her bag per hour
and ask the same polls.
All day she will do this:
and watch the screen on the wall.
And at night she will scream.
Her closed eyes and
slack mouth scare me.
White hair that was dyed a week gone is thin
and frames her pale
Her form sinks in the ward bed,
still and whist,
she will not wail one more time.
My mind now taps in to her oral cords;
I now yell the same way-
as I said,
no breath and no words.
My mom tries to fool us both and says:
“Does it not look like she sleeps?”
And now I must drag in the air,
beg to the gods that no one will see me cry,
nix to sing
and put on a brave face.
No, she does not sleep.
She does not breathe,
She does not taste,
She just stares.