How I hated her when she was with us ,

hated running upstairs to bring her things ,

diabetic candies, a pair of stockings, hairpins ,

hated the way she chewed saltless peanuts

while I watched her false teeth slip and slide.

I was so sad when she went away ,

but still, I cried.



Her room was beige and clinical,

with a basket of faded silk flowers,

dust-covered on the window sill.

Talcum powder smelled everywhere ,

on her huge polyester dresses ,

even in the coarse black wig she insisted on wearing ,

regal.



My sister and I sang Jesus Loves Me

for her,

and for her roommate also ,

the one who talked to a pair of stuffed rabbits

as she shuffled up the hall ,

and the women's sagging faces smiled at us ,

wistful.

I stared back at them, wide-eyed,

not even minding

the false teeth and the rabbits.