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Survivor

(For Gemma Jackson)

In her sleep, remnant of a vital woman

finds sweet comfort in Dreams that

offer respite for the pain of living.

She is for a time, freed of the disappointments of her body.

Once again, she is dancing with her darling Frenchman

On Bourbon street at midnight.

Before he woke her in the deep night so long ago

To tell her he loved her, with his last breath.

In her Fool’s Paradise, the frolicking goes on.

As it was before the rains of reality fell.

They were carefree and care less.

Unknowing and naïve;

Two hothouse flowers who

Knew not they had

Bloomed much too early and would fade so fast.

Spoon feeding one another the pleasures of Life,

Greedy and needy;   they feasted.

Celebrations unending, each day a holiday.

She whimpers and thrashes in the bed,

One white ringlet springs loose,

Like the power of her imagination.

Darkness fades in dreamland as

Bird song and sunlight greet the day.

Muscles that danced while she dozed,

Now cramp painfully, without the respite of somnolence.

For a moment, her demented joy fills the room like sunlight.

Aged face smiles with eyes young and beautiful.

Then reality creeps in to laugh and confusion reigns.

Her wrinkles fall back into a sad frown, the light in her eyes dulls.

She did not know how long it would take

To finish fading away, to finally Rest