The Lonely

Staring Eyes that want to communicate;
wispy hair pulled back, seeking.
A wrinkled face that depicts a past,
well-formed lips longing to speak.

A ghost of a gal,
a woman in a shell,
she'll never break out
of her living hell! 

Polite people look and turn away,
some shake their heads and wonder
what's on her mind or if something's wrong
They have no time to ponder. 

A ghost of a gal,
a woman in a shell,
will she ever break out
of her living hell? 

But this woman has been deaf since youth
and because of that she can’t speak very well. 
She looks for me but since she cannot see,
she pushes her hand to me and touches the table. 

A ghost of a gal,
a woman in a shell,
can she break out
of her living hell? 

She indicates where the table should go.
I nod, and move it in her direction.
She smiles, she grabs my hand 
talking to me in sign language.

A ghost of a gal,
a woman in a shell,
she is breaking out
of her living hell! 

I know that moving the table 
meets with her approval,
so I put on the lace damask and
she smooths out the folds and wrinkles.

A ghost of a gal,
a woman in a shell,
she's not the one
who's living in hell! 

I grab one chair for her
and she gingerly sits down.
Then I take my seat for 
dinner is ready for the two of us. 

She's quite a gal,
she's come out of her shell
and taught me a lesson
on heaven and hell!