The woman who looks for her lost sister she said.
I wrote this poem during a year when I kept
coming very close to dying.
The woman who looks for her lost sister, she said.
She walks all the time in the heart ward.
She makes no sound.
She is always alone.
If she is looking in the toilet stall and you come in,
she leaves.
She calls you dear.
I was thinking of giving her my flowers.
Just now, she came over and said,
you don't have to be writing all the time, dear.
I said, do you have any flowers?
She said, no, dear.
I said, do you want any flowers?
She said, no, no flowers, dear.
I said, don't you want any flowers at all?
No, she said.
It's too late for flowers, dear.