Plastic vessels rooting into
your nostrils, the oxygen dances inside
forcing another drum of a beat.
The machine’s green dot,
she works overtime,
reminding us of her presence.
Her unwanted,
uninvited presence.
Another section of the body laying off its workers.
The strength of all departments
in your 99-year-old body
rallied and quit.
Your mind is cartwheeling.
Heaven, looking more inviting.
Don’t cry when I leave you.
My heart, a tinfoil ball,
trying to hold in all my emotions, not letting a
crumb seep out. Thinking that I support your choice–
of hospice.
I don’t.
It’s selfish and I sound screwy.
Can you blame me? I need you.
You’re my diary, I am motivated to keep
alive by telling you of my days.
You preach advice, guidance,
you give me the dad
I never had.
I stop and look at you.
I admire the wrinkles walking across your forehead,
your eyelids growing tired, like magnets, connecting,
and then separating.