Amore
Amore
Wads of tissues
Smattered with crimson,
Laying in small piles
On the floor of our small condo.
The coughs echo
Through the four rooms,
Cutting across the emptiness,
Filling the space.
I wipe the spittle
From her cracking lips.
Her life is measured in
Bedpans and coffee stirrers.
Another cough
And her body seizes with the force.
I watch and get a spoon
Ready with more of the foul liquid.
She lies there, a clammy
Paleness against the scarlet
Splotched sheets.
Their washed in rotations by me.
Her emaciated face
Like a grinning skull
Show gratitude,
But here, I will sit till the end.
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I’m nearing 60, Barry, and I hope that when my time comes to cross over, my sons and daughter are sitting with me, loving me, like you love your mom, even when it’s not so wonderful to be there. Very nice writing.
notesalongthepath
February 26, 2010 at 11:59 pm