Margaret’s Eyes

Margaret’s eyes are the most motionless things I know. They gaze into what isn’t there They stare into the nothing she has become. Even her past does not belong to her. It lies coiled inside her like a spring wound too tight A toy now not in working order. Her memory has wandered off without her and got lost somewhere…or...other. Times lies at her feet obediently still….life like like her favorite pet Peke (stuffed) gazing up at her adoringly unnervingly she still pats it unthinkingly. Every so often Time melts & she flowers into speech: “..and then he kissed me and it was lovely and...! ” The voice slowly fades and her moment of bright time is erased and she lapses into silence like a talking doll whose battery has run down. Where is she inside her self I wonder do the words go on even though unheard? The flames cackle at the logs. The rain chatters unceasingly to the window pane Idle chit chat. The clock talks back to time like an impudent child’s backchat! The cat purrs & purrs. It is just... exactly half past nine