She looks at me with disdain in her eyes

as I pile today’s spoils onto the bedside table.

Grapes, juice, trashy magazines

sandwiches, because she hates hospital food

says she wouldn’t feed it to her dog.

I attempt an engaging smile as she glances at the offerings.

Come on, I silently plead,

eat something dammit.

She sighs, shakes her head, and turns away

Well I guess it’s going to be one of those days.

The chair beside her is comfortable and old.

I wonder privately how many others

like me

Have rested their weary bones there

whilst watching over a loved one

There’s no response when I take her hand,

it’s not her fault she’s like this

Hell I’d be the same.

But I’m doing my best; I’m giving it all I got.

Sometimes I wish she still had that stubborn

fiery look in her dark eyes

the one that could terrify and command an entire room.

But it’s been replaced with a defeated acceptance

that scares me more than anything.

Conversation falls flat.

My hollow smiles do nothing to ease her pain.

She loathes her situation,

lying in that horizontal prison.

I’ve never known her to be so sad

all through the years,

with nothing to keep her company

but grapes, juice, trashy magazines

and her tears.