A poem: To love someone who is dying
To love someone who is dying
is to cry at odd times:
it's to savor the bitter dregs of tea
years drunk;
gathering spoons from restaurants
stamps, beads, and baubles
that by holding on
maybe s/he(they) can too
it's a dull ache,
nightly tears,
and a fear
there won't be any left-
just the dark space
between the edge of the bed
and the bottom
of another empty tissue box;
it's too many hugs,
forced optimism,
and attempts to cover
the tissue paper laughs-
guilt at trying to cut
ropes that might pull you under
as they go 6 feet or deeper.
It's a love that doesn't
know what to do with itself;
and a question of faith
more profound than
the inevitability
of a closed curtain.
something I wrote. No, I know it's not good. I don't rightly care. Critiques of the piece are welcome, at the moment I'm not really wanting too much sympathy. Or any, really.
To those who aren't familiar with the back story, this is for my dying Grandma as she prolly won't see the end of summer; my friend Drew with skin cancer who isn't doing so well, and my friend Paul who had multiple myeloma who is getting a marrow transplant in a few weeks once his radiation is done. He will more than likely continue to relapse throughout his life. He is 26.
however, my cousin with the skull fracture is doing splendidly. She's home and allowed to roam around, she's just not allowed to do anything more rough than power walking for the next 6 months.
is to cry at odd times:
it's to savor the bitter dregs of tea
years drunk;
gathering spoons from restaurants
stamps, beads, and baubles
that by holding on
maybe s/he(they) can too
it's a dull ache,
nightly tears,
and a fear
there won't be any left-
just the dark space
between the edge of the bed
and the bottom
of another empty tissue box;
it's too many hugs,
forced optimism,
and attempts to cover
the tissue paper laughs-
guilt at trying to cut
ropes that might pull you under
as they go 6 feet or deeper.
It's a love that doesn't
know what to do with itself;
and a question of faith
more profound than
the inevitability
of a closed curtain.
something I wrote. No, I know it's not good. I don't rightly care. Critiques of the piece are welcome, at the moment I'm not really wanting too much sympathy. Or any, really.
To those who aren't familiar with the back story, this is for my dying Grandma as she prolly won't see the end of summer; my friend Drew with skin cancer who isn't doing so well, and my friend Paul who had multiple myeloma who is getting a marrow transplant in a few weeks once his radiation is done. He will more than likely continue to relapse throughout his life. He is 26.
however, my cousin with the skull fracture is doing splendidly. She's home and allowed to roam around, she's just not allowed to do anything more rough than power walking for the next 6 months.