Tuesday, January 25, 2011

Seeing Brian

She’s reading from blank pages
Those stories she’d mumble with bright eyes
to the child that sat on the rocking chair
next to her barred window

She said his name was Brian
and that he had golden hair
and crooked teeth
but he smiled sweetly

She’d whisper that he brought her chocolates
wrapped in tissues
in the mornings
and snuck them into her drawer

She’d giggle mischievously
because the mean ladies never found them

Sometimes she’d just sit on her bed
rocking herself back and forth
with a peaceful smile stretched across
her wrinkled face
listening to him speak

She didn’t like taking her meds
because she said it made him sad
and he wouldn’t visit quite as often

One day, when the doctor stopped by
she screamed at him and called him blind
and when I came in later to ask
what had gone wrong
she told me he was the crazy one
because he couldn’t see her Brian

And I didn’t understand
why they wouldn’t let the poor lady be
delighted and contended
in her beautiful world of delusion
because in our world
she was all alone

So when she smiled and told me
that she liked me
and put a finger to her lips
and winked
as she offered me empty tissues
from her drawer
I told her
that Brian loved her very much

And she looked
towards the empty rocking chair
and whispered, “I love him more”

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