By Antigone Lambros, age 14
Laugh,
they said.
You are happy.
Your office is clean, and you are a painter.
Laugh because you are happy.
They didn't know.
They haven't seen.
The old man
with frail, crumbling skin.
They haven't heard his breathing,
his ragged, windy breathing.
They haven't felt her terror at losing him.
Yes, her office is clean
because she has to be in control,
in control of something.
Laugh
they said
because you are happy.
They didn't understand
the blank white canvas
hanging in her room.
She said they were white like bedsheets.
They still didn't understand.
The camera snapped,
but something didn't work
they said.
Something didn't look right.
Maybe I'm just not happy, she said.
The old man rasped out a breath,
why,
why aren't you happy?
You have your whole life stretched
out in front of you.
Live it for me.
He rasped silent.
She cried.
She screamed.
I'm not happy.
I'm not happy.
***
About the Author
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