Rose-Marie

This woman
Sitting before me on her hospital bed
Wrinkled hands
And slouching cheek bones
Had been dead for many years now.

She spoke words,
And she drank coffee,
And she crossed her ankles.

Everything about Rose-Marie Murphy was decrepit.

Yet her eyes,
Brown and sparkling,
Remained unaware.

She didn't know what happened,
And frankly,
She doesn't care.

Those eyes were young,
As if forty years had gone by
Without seeing a thing.

The slab of skin
Below her chin
Resembled that of a rooster,

And the breasts
Upon her chest
Were falling to the wayside,
Into the depths of nothingness,
Along with her sanity.

I had been aware of this woman all my life,
But never known her.

Half the time,
She didn't even know herself.

-Emily Ann