terminal

Her hair was matted,
her face wrinkled,
her look seemed
to trickle pain.

Across the marble
she walked, pacing
through the maze
that marked her home.

With a stuttered step,
she fell and died.
The floor greeted her fall
as if by some knowledge of it all

And I sat there

looking at her
sprawled out
on the cold floor, 
watching her life seep
into linoleum, 
wondering if some
emergency team would
stop her playing death.

I remember
the moment her gray eyes
pierced mine and I remember
her walking, slowly
and I remember most 
the unceremonious thud
that marked the end 
of her being and becoming –
things only read
in stories and poems
and spoken about in hushed tones
or noticed from a distance, like
the faint whisper of the wind
I heard in her fall.