by Jordan Faris

Created on: September 02, 2009

And She Said

I heard her from a few feet away

down the Geography aisle,

coughing: a dry, severed

sort of sound, like a

primeval call from

some long-dead summit.

I put my books back

and crossed over to her,

a woman, late 30's maybe,

covering her mouth with both hands,

as if trying to repulse

an onslaught of curses

pushing their way out.

She had been pretty once,

but now, in her dirty

remnants and layers,

she was hard to

decode. "Lady,"

I asked, "Are you alright?"

She looked up at me

and then turned away,

nodding her head,

and I felt stupid for

asking. The library

was her hospice, and

once inside, she had

nowhere to go.

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