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.