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She sits at the lunch table with her good buddy
a Greek fellow with no english
she-a canadian with no Greek tongue-
they commune like there is no tomorrow
siding with each other
against
the staff who would wash them
clothe them
feed them
so much like a child would behave

She seems to glow with a radiance of innocence
a sweetness wet on the lips of time
held within a cocoon of
dementia
that robs her body and mind of life
leaving a withering shell that breathes to live 
consumes nourishment to breath
she knows not where she is
cool hand of death
nearer and nearer
waiting patiently until her chin falls deeper to her breast and
the shallow breath
all but becomes inaudible and still.

I
in the depths of my being
wish somehow she would snap out of it
recognize me
recognize the card game myself and my brothers now play with her
the game of
recognize the numbers~

She bides her time sleeping, eating, and watching
desperate to recognize and hold onto the familiar
"pleasantly confused"
they label her 
out of an ignorance to truly deal with things
"blissful ambivalence" another describes her
and I shot out inside myself
she has been more than this...
she is more than these damn labels
she is a person
an integral part of the life of this society
so deserving of respect
and compassion.  
recognize the suits
and it makes me sad
that her mind is playing the final trick
bluffed and lost

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