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Class of 2027, English and Philosophy
She awakes.
Her skin, it falls, sagging, wrinkled
If only that could describe it.
Her skin, it hangs off of her bones
A dollop of cream on a whisk-
About to drop
But it does not drop. It gently sways
Her brittle translucent skin somehow remains
Flexible
She awakes
She lifts her ancient hand
A mass of skin guided by bones makes its way
upwards
Her crumbling fingers pinch her nose
They slowly lower to her chin
With her hand she angrily pats the skin beneath
Her chin
Commanding it to remain in place
Pleading youth to reenter;
Her shriveled hand, it gently
drops.
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