lunch in the hospital lobby

Susy can still blink
one for yes
two for no

her older brother shakes the wheelchair
to wake her for news and photos of
my 8 year old son and new love
her head lolls
he wipes the corners of her mouth

his wife eats her salad
chats about diaper changes
and disappointment
the latest decline, short-term memory loss
while my voice brings the remnants of a smile to her lips

I kiss her dry forehead, rub her feet contracted en pointe, a dancer’s pose
her hands fall gracefully across the magazine in her lap, “fancy weekend getaways”
we joke, her caregivers and I, as she slips in and out of sleep

I tell her I will meet her here again
when they return in six months
to fill her pump
her brother says
she looks as if she wants to cry
but I suspect a denser wish