Amapola

Astor Piazzolla’s bandoneon and its off-kilter tango play from the speaker. Amapola listens and smiles as the swallows beyond the window swirl and soar to the melody of their own natural musicality. Amapola drums her thumbs on her knobby knees and lets the music drift through her brain, unmooring long-anchored memories of bygone days, and calming the permanent staccato bob of her head. Idyllic days sway in her mind when she used to run and walk and dance. Decrepit and fragile, her body has become a prison, itself imprisoned in a wheelchair and by the reek of medicine festering through the nursing home vents.