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Brother Dying
by
Linda Golden |
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Does the wind whisper to you as you wait to yield
Is there a window that opens to the next world
If I hold your hand does it make it harder to leave
Tell me how to be with you, be there for you
Do you know what is future, tell me what you see
Is it worse if I ask you to talk to me
The sound inside my breast is long and low, an animal wail
of grief, exploding now only in my pillow under the night sky
When I am alone. How do I watch you die
I remember taking care of you when you were little
Sis, you called me, with your baby lisp, holding out
your chubby hand for me to take you about
Years of memories shared, all of our children sitting together
curious, shaken, circle of cousins facing loss, their own mortality
We box-up fragments of our lives, bereft, adrift in memory
We talk on the phone, there are moments of selective amnesia
sometimes silence, tears,regrets,laughter,play,
nothing unfairness. With each visit less and less to say
Sleep evades us all, narcotic of unconsciousness in short supply
Focus on daily life spotty, time under sun, drifts between blank stares,
frantic activity--what really needs to be done
Your hand grows light in mind, dry paper-thin skin, palm cold
to the touch, veins flattened, still strong enough to holdmine
We wait together for whatever comes next
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--Submitted by LGolden on 2015-03-01.
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