Mary
A poem of loss.
You weren’t sad
Nor selfish either
As we spoke of death
How could I know
It was the last
I’d see you drawing breath?
Nine-Eleven
Grandpa Pat
We spoke of these and more
How could I know
In such short time
You’d follow those before?
Blood transfusions
Chemo, too
Your health was getting worse
How could I know
Leukemia
Could be that much accursed?
At last it comes
The loss of hope
Acceptance, so disdainful
How could I know
What was to come
Would be that much more painful?
The doctor’s call
The sign of hope
They told us you would live!
How could they know
While in their haste
The torture false hope gives?
Another call
Hopes crash and burn
Had it even been a day?
How could we know
Before that time
How quickly false hopes fray?
Your final wish
No sorrow, grief
Just go on living life
How could you know
The full extent
Your death would cause me strife?
Memories
The slow decay
Like forgotten picture shows
How could one know
Anyone
How deep depression goes?
You weren’t sad
Nor selfish either
As we spoke of death
How could I know
It was the last
I’d see you drawing breath?
Writer. Actor. Director. Chalk artist. YouTuber. Nerdfighter. Traveler. Pansexual. Genderfluid. Millennial. Socialist. Living a complex life beyond those words.
