Auntie Keeps Going

She can't stand 

nor hold a cup

nor catch a thought

nor tell a tale

nor stage a complaint

with the old fervour

but she can parrot back

if you feed her right.

Dr Raj says she's free

from pain as he prescribes

more liquid oblivion.

It could be years 

he cautions kindly.

Better pain-free

than compos mentis

and suffering.

The nurses say she's good.

Complies. Complies.

Who knows who she is now,

what colours haunt her sleep

what arguments she makes

inside her shell?

The nurses change the days,

they wheel her in and out

of weeks, they soothe her

with song and chocolate

they cook the sheets

they bleach the sorrow

they cube small the meat

they hunt for sores

they keep her 

mildly clean, dispense, dispense

they check her pulse for rust

and oil her like an engine,

sputter, sigh and leak.

She's sleeping iron. Grit.

Who knows how she dreams,

what she lacks, what she lives for?

I know you remember me

she tells me on the phone.

I think of you every day

I lie.

I think of you every day

she lies back.

Jacqueline Saphra