The Girl

The Girl

The girl, once loud and laughing, is subdued
As if hushed by the weight of her thoughts.
She makes a pathetic, shallow mound
In the bed; half-starved, vulnerable, weak,
I want to scream "Eat, eat!" but it
Pains her to do so; she is fed by the needles
In her wrists, fed by clear solutions,
Watery, tasteless, straight-to-blood.

Mine are quick visits, so as not to tire her too much,
Filled with the half-smiles and happy moments
That are all she lets me see of her.
But I glance back as I leave
And capture a glimpse
Of her lonely privacy;
The tightness of her pale pinched cheeks,
Her jaw working soundlessly to halt the tears,
Her bony hands grasping at the white sheets
Almost involuntary movement, betraying fear,
And the shadows in her eyes that dance with death.

I feel like a cheat, as if to leave so soon
Is to love her less.