Rest Home

We are climbing the stairs
that lead to your life.

A door tilts open, spilling your image
from the stains on the wall.
Urine musts the heavy air. We see
you now, a leather hull jerking
to the dull frenzy of a rocking chair.

You seem a stranger,
each hair closely knifed
from your vinyl face.
We speak as friends, yet your eyes
dance from ours.

A nurse enters, bringing your dinner.
She rests the tray on your brown
paraffin legs, then tells us
how fine your are doing.
We smile and agree, finding sanctuary
                           in our escape.

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