Vigil
By
- 447 reads
You'd think it was a funeral.
Someone dying
With all these flowers
And all this crying.
And people dropping in.
"If there's anything.
Anything, you'll let us know."
And all the messages on the ansaphone.
"We'd like to pop by
Just for a moment or two
Pop by and say hi,
Pay our respects.
And if there's anything we can do."
You'd think it was a funeral.
In chairs arranged around the bed
They take his hand, support his head.
And whisper about him as if he cannot hear.
"He's ever so good.
And you! You're doing so well my dear!"
You'd think it was a funeral.
Someone departing.
A life ending, not starting.
Sleepless nights and frequent frights
"Is he breathing?
My God, is he breathing?"
Round-the-clock vigil.
24/7 care.
He cannot feed himself
He soils his underwear.
He cannot clean himself.
And when he sleeps, the air
Whistles through his toothless gums
Or rattles like a snare
Through his narrow nose.
He cannot change his clothes.
Or wash his soft silk hair.
His skin does not quite fit.
Puckered like a floppy flat cap.
Weathered leather gloves.
His bony chest shivers like a perishing dove.
Between his lips saliva bubbles.
His eyes are sealed.
Do they hide yet-to-be-written secrets?
Or a life-long tale of troubles?
You'd think it was a funeral.
The scent of lilies, curtains drawn.
Is this the twilight or the dawn?
Stale yet sterile air.
Sorry-to-intrude footsteps on the stairs.
You'd think it was a funeral.
Are these valedictory smiles?
And all the coloured envelopes
Lying forgotten on the mat.
Do they contain a eulogy?
Obituary? Condolences? Regret?
The postman doesn't smile.
Presents another pile
Of envelopes without windows.
New mother or new widow?
He's worried it's a funeral.
Thank God it's not a funeral.
This time it's not a funeral.
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