Hold my Hand I am Tired – Day 18

GloPoWriMo 2019

Prompt Day 18: A poem based on grief.

 

Hold my Hand I am Tired

 

Hold my hand I am tired.

I visit you in the morning;

feed you. That was before

you began refusing food.

Thankfully you sometimes

Forgot and I spooned small

morsels even when you uttered

cruel morphine-induced words.

I would raise the spoon

to your beautiful mouth.

 

Hold my hand I am tired.

It is evening. Yesterday,

I sat with you until midnight.

I share the sittings with family.

You said cruel things to them.

Curse the morphine: but it’s

not always to blame.

Hold my hand I am tired.

 

You try to speak. This time

it was garbled. You are your

old self. But please hold

my hand, I am tired. You

seem not to be. Then I spoke.

Both of us know what I said.

It was something like “Let go.”

You know, you must know now –

tiredness makes us strange.

The tightness of your lips

even as the coma came quick.

The last thing to go is the hearing.

Again and again, I rephrase

what earlier I had said.

 

I held your hand through long hours

of the night. I returned at dawn.

Late afternoon the family took

a short break. We were alone.

We were holding hands; a sigh

so gentle. That was all. But it

is not touch: the last thing to go

is hearing. I had, by then,

rephrased it again and again. “Let go!”

 

Benita H. Kape © 18.4.2019

 

 

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