it's different now

she rocks
perpetually, front to back,
in her red sweater,
buttoned
by hands
not hers. her slippers on,
her soft pants,
her hair chopped
across
then combed straight,
unlike
any hair, I've seen
on her
throughout my life.
she says my name,
over
and over, as I ask her
what she's
thinking,
what she remembers.
childlike she looks me
in the eye
embarrassed by her shyness,
her tears.
I think of you, she says,
I think of everyone all
the time. but
it's different now, she
manages.
it's different, then
I too
cry.