elane

gray. her hair was gray.

and she liked to wear purple. and elephants.

her heart danced in a way that that her swollen feet could not. her smile, her laugh, her song. joy emitted beneath a body ridden with age and diabetes. her hands were soft and small, and yet their wrinkles shouted strength, weathered from years of powdered milk and food stamps. and three young boys to raise.

she always wore pink on her lips and topaz on her ears. and her necklaces always jingled the same exact tune. a creature of habit, i had assumed. now i wonder if she was merely physically, emotionally or mentally incapable of picking anything else.

her eyes shone, bright despite the past pains. long gone struggles. nights wondering where the next meal to come. days alone, while her husband tried to make ends meet.

i know her eyes shone. i can see it in the pictures and i know it my head. i try to tell myself over and over. because i know it to be true. over and over. her eyes. they shone. sparkled. lustrous. brilliant. tiny spheres of happiness.

but, in my heart, i can only see her haunting, lifeless eyes. dark and blank, like her mind. only those eyes are what i see. in every memory. in every dream.

because, for some reason, all i really remember are the days she began to slip away.