|
|
Replying to a comment on:
Cookies Won't Cut It (Free verse) by Sunny
No one wants to talk about the way
our neighborâs skin is slowing devolving
and dropping off her marrows.
Her husbandâs pickup truck pulls into the driveway;
he is her bed-keeper, bath-compliment,
husband, mother and maid.
Once this cancer has made
a feast on all her organs,
the gritty skies call for âat home bed-rest,â
the nights before death.
Wailing aches carry
to the tub, following the pain one fights through,
sometimes, until the next morning
arises with itsâ Tulips and Magnoliaâs heads abloom.
The sick one enjoys the apparitions
she sees as window-ghosts: Oak and Elm
scatter irrelevantly, when the wind scrambles onto his footage.
Past tendered memories of all this raw life,
before this dumbing numbing morphine
gives its ultimate: a release
to the physical ailmentsâ¦
and thatâs all she cares for;
sheâd do anything for the acquittance.
grandchildâs golden ringlets
got lost in the weeds of grandmaâs mindâ¦
the pain has ebbed.
her recently engaged daughter,
gets motherâs drunken approval,
floating eyes of doubt
and a sense of shame, only a daughter can read.
Mom doesnât care anymore.
she wants to go Home, she misses her Father.
her alligator eyes try to say enough,
but sink back into their sulks for sake of the gleam her youth.
her children go to check-up on their parents,
grandchildren biting the mother
and fatherâs heels, as they procession
down the street. â¦.no answer
at the door, doorâs unlocked,
they saunter up dadâs proud hardwood floors
built ages agoâ¦
to find two tiny souls,
unbound of earthly sagged-tarnish.
Here was where they decided to go together
never letting go, assuming
their fleshy arms would hold tight together forever.
no one knew how her pain
soaked into his body,
killed him after she was gone.
he could have carried a few more years,
but the silent kitchen that enveloped
its eventual stagnancies
and the undefiled side of her folded bed
sheets made sure only one half
of him was still breathing, feeling, breathing.
He did not have to speak,
we all know: he must
have found what hundreds
would give up to find.
|