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