BACK STORY
missing you
I warm the bed
with a hot brick
There is a memorial service and I receive your ashes.
I listen to your troubled breathing until it stops.
You call me bitch for putting you in a nursing home.
Your condition is worsening, and you need a wheel chair.
Cognition is going, your body is weakening, moods are erratic.
We know something is wrong even before the diagnosis.
clocks jump ahead
a date on the calendar
I fail to see
Frogpond
No comments:
Post a Comment