From my memoir class, prompted by I remember:
I remember when you were vibrant, your hair massaging your shoulders, limbs long and lean, your smile the flash of sunlight You lie in the gigantic bed, your emaciated body pale and withering, your head bald with a small growth of fuzz reminiscent of a baby bird’s down The oxygen wired to your nostrils keeps you breathing, but your spirit is already walking out the door Your soul still fills the room, and once in a while your laughter reminds us of days when time was inconsequential, and we could afford the luxury of living life that had no meaning The rest of the time, we mourn you in silence even though you’re still here I don’t know how to love you any less even though you are disappearing from sight Comments are closed.
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AuthorReflections of a woman spawned in a cement cocoon... Archives
August 2023
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