a million unspoken words

the million layers of a pinecone

as she crouches

on her knees at the side of the bed

her grandmother’s hand

on top of the covers

is still

she is too young

she is too fragile

to face this

her grandmother’s breathing is scary

she will always remember that

the breathing

of a broken machine

clattering

painful

dying

she lets the tears fall

as she tries to say all the things she never did

while her grandmother’s eyes were open

and her mind could understand them

now

her clear eyes hide,

cloaked by her eyelids

like two fugitives

hiding, hiding away

they will never again open

the girl knows.

she is too young, too young

she understands what is happening

but does not want to believe it

when they turn off the oxygen she panics

stop it, stop it

don’t you idiots know she’s still alive?!

anger

bubbles inside her

a thousand furious words

the doctors, the nurses,

she even blames herself

why, why couldn’t she

keep her grandma alive longer?

why didn’t she do more

search harder for a cure?

it is too late

the light of day will dawn

and a piece of the girl

will be forever lost

she wants to hit someone

express all the anger in her heart

through her fists.

she shreds a tissue

rips it into pieces

shredding part of who she is

because she will never be the same

after

her grandma’s death.

the easy days of

swing sets

and carefree afternoons

are gone.

she is cold

in her ice heart.

at 10:37 pm

the mechanical breathing stops

and all is quiet

her grandmother’s skin a pasty gray

her pulse, gone

she has entered into death

and no words can speak of her granddaughter’s pain