Day 590

Once this child woke
laughing at the sun
as it danced 
through shadows of leaves
on the wall of her room.
Now she has barely strength enough
to open her eyes.  Now her body
is shrinking when it ought to be
growing.  Now she forgets words
she knew, forgets songs 
she learned in her one year of school.
Now her arms are as thin
as the branches of olive trees
which themselves are only memories.
Now her legs, which carried her
through fields of flowers,
can barely move.  Now when her mother
lifts her from the place
she sleeps, it’s like lifting
a stem.  A dying branch.