The Wait

Again He came.  And again I was waiting. This wait never seemed to end. Every time he came, my mind filled with hope and anxiety. Something within me would hold on to the last branch never letting go, like the last leaf of autumn. Through all the hope, anxiety and pain my soul  would be dancing and prancing around like the gazelle in the Book of Songs. Springing around through an unseen  pasture happy to have found new freedom. There was this joy which I acknowledged and subdued yet which for the sheer intensity  of it seemed to scream out its presence.

Mirrored corridors

Walking down the dark corridor
narrow and tiled
I feel the walls close in on me
the future too. As is time.

The smell of phenyl and guaranteed sanitation,
stacked up tables. Ricket legs.
 Feeble holding. Life too.

The hatred for the place age old
unable to shirk off still rooted deep in.
Life and death in one place.
But it bothers me not today
The fear of loss pulls me toward it.

A bed, green and hard
large enough for a king as they said.
But what good would that be
to a man staring at the face of death?

Age had consumed him.
Or was it the bed
that had eaten him whole?
What was left was just a bone
lying splintered half way down the bed.

The only sign of life, an open mouth.
Heaving. Struggling at some unseen draught of life.
Closed eyes. Swaying slumber.

I kept watch till I could watch no more
the memories of a grandfather
who loved rebukes from a nine year old.
As did the twin who seemed now would soon join him.

Getting up I kissed him again as I always did
down between his forehead and a shiny head.
Pangs of ceremony.

A look again,then I tear myself away
remembering I turn once again
to touch one last time the vestiges of a leg that remain.
Overwhelmed I think,
"Tell him, I loved you like I did him.
And always will."

-Jean Elizabeth Paul