I saw her hunched over in her bed
As I peered through the window in the door
Procrastinating
And deliberating whether to enter.
Her eyes were haunted and buried
Deep within a gaunt hollow face
Her dry skin the colour of city snow
Dirty and impure.
Her body started to shake
Melting the snow into a puddle in her lap
That dripped incessantly from her glistening brow.
Her hair stuck to her face
Like an autumn leaf stuck to the train track;
It looks like her timetable
Is now defunct.
Her convulsions quickened
And the swellings on her legs pulsated in rhythm
Shimmering fire – filled mounds
Like a volcano range just waiting
To erupt.
I give my flowers to a nurse
And as I walk away
I tell her to plant them
When the ash has settled.