The Days in Careful Measure

Although her skin hangs like
crepe and her eyes hover
    lost in the canyon of her face
she speaks of the future and I
turn my ear to her conceits. She
would soon be back in her place
that no one could plump like her.
This is the woman who dwarfed my

slight frame. Now her flighting
hands are vague shadows on
     perilous sticks and her hair
no longer dyed, springs distant
on her skull. Chemicals budded

her taste to ashes leaving no pleasure
in fueling. She moves these days
     in careful measure, one boneleg
then another; laying fond memory
on acquisitions no longer hosting

pleasure. Satisfying now a meagre
patience, drawing mind across a
     printed page. Inhaling drags while
drawing notice to her new non-smoking
habit. Frustrations ebb and flow
     unrelieved by friendly voices.

Her life has paced the decay of her
flesh and she follows the corruption
of her cells hypnotically. Finally
     slips skinny shanks between
hospital sheets, her world becomes
a white attendance punctuated by

ampules of powdered highs. Even her
family now come to visit this
     vanishing member, sending
daffodils to lighten the landscape
of her room. Their bright insouciance
pricks her, drawing as they do hopes

of waking while she is looking for
     comfort in thoughts of sleep.