Vnuchka

Blue hair, flesh blue, skin blue No muscle, no meat Damaged brain and damaged children A walking skeleton This my grandmother tells me At six-thirty, still in the dark Her wails pool in black puddles Pooling under her eyes One skeleton lives in the closet Coming at night to whisper in ears A gentle whisper of matted wire One skeleton sits at the kitchen table Partakes of talk but not of food Black puddles form in its eyes Black puddles drip from its mouth Pooling on the table Where everyone sits One skeleton walks with me It leans on my shoulder And grasps my hand, A cold hiss comes from a void On the face, where black puddles pool Clutching my hand, Footsteps falling heavily on concrete Whispering, what will you do?