I stand over her like a phantom. I could buy her some headphones or something. Or, maybe I could put lipstick on for her. I could brush her hair, or even her teeth. Make things a little easier for her. I think of myself as omniscient.
Or, maybe I’m just a gargoyle.
I stand over her for about five minutes. I watch her risky breathing, watch her eyes move under her lids, watch her hands clench and unclench. I’m sorry for her sickness, sorry that the nuclear family has damaged her, but I think I can hear what she’s thinking. Sometimes, I have erotic thoughts about ground beef. This isn’t the right time to go into that, though. She’s adrift, yes, and I research her facial expressions. It’s like sucking the marrow out of a chicken bone.
The home once had its niceties.
The home is now making
