A Moment of Clarity
Time is stagnant through the glass doors
Where old men and women sit wasted in comfy chairs
Waiting to be fed, waiting for bed
Waiting for what
Commander Jenkins, back now bent, murmurs to himself.
Edith greets every visitor
Maybe this one has come for her.
Quickly I pass through this waiting room and see her
Sitting apart, gazing through the grimy window, nodding a little.
I call her name
She slowly turns, her unfocused eyes searching mine,
Her bony speckled hand, twig-like fingers curl
Holding tight, like a baby’s.
I talk, she smiles, I talk, she tires,
Closing her eyes more often
I gently ease my hand away.
Then in a swift fluid movement
I pull my coat round me
And stride out on strong legs to the door
Where I pause,
Turn back
To see her,
To see me
Sitting there
Waiting. Waiting.
Imogen Matthews