Her body had rotted from the inside.
The disease – the medicines – the doctors –
had done all they could.
The smell of disinfectant peels off the floor
and creeps up the faded green walls.
The heat sits heavily –
swirling with the fumes of melancholia
and the pity of strangers that trickles in
through the half opened door.
Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.
A moan scrabbles at the back of her throat.
The tasteless food claws its way back up
out of a body throbbing with defeat.
She lies on the sterile white sheets
like a piece of crumpled paper
that has been folded the wrong way
too many times.
Her eyes – glazed with acceptance
flicker – towards the door.
Her granddaughter carries a bunch of fake
flowers and worried guilt
like a stone around her neck.
The woman smiles at the girl.
Her face – crinkling, wrinkling, folding –
“It’s going to be alright” she says.