WE could see that we were moving past several rooms where the patients were also moving around, going in and out of their rooms. Many of the old ones were falling asleep, but a few more were talking to their nurses as they went along. When we passed their rooms, they would say something in that low, lost manner that only the demented can ever manage. It was very disconcerting to think of all these people wandering around in the hallway like this. It was as though the hospital was a bad dream, or a village in the Carpathian mountains, or like the field of a small town where the old women doze in their rows.
It’s once a life time and same as it ever was.
We were walking up the stairs when I realized that Valerie was holding my arm. “Is something wrong?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
We came into a new and smaller room, and Miss Norris was in the chair by the window, eating toast from a tattered and spotted plate. “Hello, Annie,” she said to me, closing the book on her lap and folding her hands on her lap.
“Hello, Miss Norris,” I said. “Are you going to eat?”
Miss Norris looked up at me, her eyes narrow, but without animosity. “Yes,” she said. “I am.”
It’s the same as it ever was. It’s the same as it ever was.
:: 06.09.2022 ::
E.P. Robles | Poetry 