Floating in a sea of her own perspiration,
she clutches the bed sheets like a life preserver.
Vacant is her stare, a weapon of every ache and pain
ingrained in her broken heart.
Showing little life; her eyes clench
closed to the world of familiarity,
a similarity to the other residents
who have found themselves left
to languish in lassitude.
Aunt Jane appears to be asleep,
tears seem to weep through her slumber.
The touch of a tender hand is all
that stands between life and the abyss.
A gentle kiss on a timeworn cheek
eyes flutter to a bleary peek
at the face inches from hers.
“How are you Aunt Jane?”
Her tired eyes smile briefly.
“Better” she whispers,
turning to her pillow with a sigh.
In that moment, she found recognition.
In her condition, it was more that I had hoped.
You don’t care that you’ve been forgotten.
You embrace that brief flash of lucidity
and accept that life still caresses her heart.