Cell Death

Shy scalp for years unseen,
Glistening, pale and tender along
Her parting. Stand over her and you can see
The thinning starting.
Rare before, silver threads
Like fragile corkscrews winding,
Conceal the chestnut hairs you now have
Trouble finding.
Ruched skin drops
In a curtsey, gracefully.
Quivering lines
Wriggle, leaf-veins on her breast.
Like a once-gummed label whose glue is lost
Her flesh won’t stick
But all around her elegant jaw
Releases its grip, gratefully.
Her triceps flop in
Hammocks of loosened skin.
Her middle remains inflated,
Regardless of breaths out or in.
Lips like over-stretched elastic wither
After every grin.

Joints that were chicken bone
Thin and blue
Are red, inflamed, finding
Clumsiness in the slightest task they do.
She clicks to stand and bend, she
Straightens up dizzy.
Her waning sight and
Unsure balance
Mark her permanently when
She misses her step.
She trips,
She falls, she breaks both hips.
At least these days she’s spared
The mocking, odd surprise
Of a dark flag
Still waving wistful
Goodbyes to
The children she might
Have had and seen mature,
Watching with her dim and watery eyes.
© S.P.D.