The Inmate of an Old People’s Home Looking Towards Freedom
written by: Stanley Wilkin
I looked into the gloom behind the window
Staring it seemed forever,
Features reassembled behind the glass,
Her ancient face faced mine.
Trapped, her eyes implored my attention,
Her fading fingers clawed the frosted pane;
She could not escape the protected room
Or the desiccated rage of her age.
Buried in a prison of age-impressed impotency,
She implored help.
My help. She smiled at me like a young woman smiles at a lover,
An arm stretching outward to touch mine
Watching from the street.
Her eyes bright, unfurred, pleading.
As she blew a kiss, I ran, her
Wizened flesh and features dragging me towards my own unavoidable fate.