A resident, new to me, chair-paddled into the room
with long, flat feet padded in doubled hospital socks.
Enthralled by the new arrivals face, I fell to silence,
allowing mother to resume her private communion
with her other son unseen by either of us in 15 years. 

The new she, yes, a she, floated diaphanously in, as  
if fresh from the make-up trailer on a movie set of a
ghost-tale or a horror flick, ready to kill her scenes;
mumbling the lines of her lone perfected character
oblivious to all but her muse and her scripted tale.

Huge cheekbones drooped to tiny, pointed chin;
all sheathed in the thinnest, palest of white skin 
fragile as a gossamer clouds feel. Corn silk hair,
white not golden, clung scantily to a slick scalp.
But the eyes, her eyes dispelled my brief fantasy.

Her eyes, a Matisse light-blue commingling with 
sparks of light whiter than God, danced with joy,
speaking a stunning, rare tongue of their own as she
listened and conversed with her invisible visitor who 
sat, stood, hovered joyously confirming all her truths.

The words her visitor showered on her could not be 
belittled. All were accepted without doubt as true:
professions of love, devotion, her reimagined life. 
Raising, then lowering her hands daintily, her eyes 
and mumblings fell silent. She chair-paddled away.

Mother's head lifted, her own excited eyes shining;
Your brother just spoke to me! He and two other men
have been traveling the world all these past years!
His friends pay for everything! He said to tell you Hi!
Offering a weak side to side hand wave, I said, Hi!