Margaret’s eyes
are the most motionless
things I know.
They gaze into
what isn’t there
They stare into
the nothing she has become.
Even her past
does not belong to her.
It lies coiled
inside her
like a spring wound
too tight
A toy now
not in working order.
Her memory
has wandered off
without her
and got lost
somewhere…or...other.
Times lies
at her feet
obediently
still….life like
like her favorite pet Peke
(stuffed)
gazing up at her
adoringly
unnervingly
she still pats it
unthinkingly.
Every so often
Time melts
& she flowers
into speech:
“..and then he kissed me
and it was lovely and...! ”
The voice slowly fades
and her moment of bright time
is erased
and she lapses into silence
like a talking doll
whose battery has run down.
Where is she
inside her self
I wonder
do the words go on
even though unheard?
The flames
cackle at the logs.
The rain
chatters unceasingly
to the window pane
Idle
chit
chat.
The clock
talks back
to time
like an impudent child’s backchat!
The cat
purrs
&
purrs.
It is just...
exactly half past nine
Dónall Dempsey
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/margaret-s-eyes/
