A schizophrenic woman, talking

And talking, loudly to herself
As she sorts various plastic bags
Filled with other plastic bags
In and out of one another.
Conversing either with them
Or someone unseen.
Her voice breaks off occasionally
As she discovers a new bag, untarnished, unused
Hidden among the old.
Laughing (with delight?) now
Repeating one or two words inaudibly
Then laughing again, louder still.

Our eyes meet for a moment
And I could believe
She were addressing me
If it weren't for her eyes
Glazed, unblinking
Her voice unfaltering
Her monologue uninterrupted.

With each word of hers
I feel the potential of my own words,
My own voice, both inner and outer
Being tamed, silenced, slowly
Retreating inside my quiet self
Like a different species of animal encountering another.