By Crystal Arbogast

She stares out of the window
As strangers walk by.
"Poor old woman," they say.
"Doesn't even know what's going on."
And she sits in her robe which
Smells of urine.
But they don't know
That she is dreaming.
Reminiscing,
Of her life and loves.
Of him.
Of how his eyes crinkled
When he smiled.
How he loved her,
And took care of her,
Until he died.
Of their children,
Soft, sweet smelling babies.
Childish laughter.
Where did they go?
So, she waits by the window.
Waits for him,
To take her away from the stares
Of strangers.
And the rough hands of others,
Who look at the clock,
And speak to her as though
She were a child.
Thinking of him, she smiles
And promises to wait.
"Are we feeling good today?'
A voice breaks into her world
As she is wheeled away to her room.
"We've got to get this one changed."
"Smells to high heaven in here today."
Closing her eyes, she shuts out
The voices,
And hums their favorite song.