Mildred


After your fall, for a time,
You sat staring, blinking
As if in code, some message.
Your face held no clue-
Your ice blue eyes, your skin like milk,
No playful smile, no mischievous twinkle.

Gray tresses gathered in loose curls on your brow,
Drew attention from the knotted stitches, the dried blood,
The shaved place behind your ear.
I held your hand with one hand and traced the ridges
Of your knuckles, your blue river of veins,
Even the age spots like puddles on the ice floe of skin, 
With the other.

We were quiet, you and I.
Waiting for you to come back to me,
I didn’t say much.
Until then,
I hadn’t imagined a life without your voice.