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Geriatricsby Gary T. CzerwinskiIs The world Of the dead-- The drooling Who collapse Like lungs And veins. Purple Bruises Stain The desert Of their skin-- This one Undresses Her breastless Frame-- She wants to go home. But your hands, Grandfather, Are grafted To the bed-- Wedded Not to undo The hurts Of your Tubes. You refuse all food. Down The hall a woman Moans From pain. Your fingers Twitch The wrinkles Of your sheet. Grandma prays. She's afraid. At times Your eyes Open opaque And surprised-- Emaciated-- The law prevents Emancipation From morphine. Already You are a mummy-- The journey Eased last year By your son. Cancer won. Your daughter And her treasures Pilgrimage This vigil You absolve With whispered love. The morning Before your end They find You unclothed. Your final Lesson-- Naked and unsaid. It is spring. I read your eulogy. Your coffin is cherry. Your garden Is undone. What will you Have us know? This mausoleum Mouths The wisdom Of the dead-- A litany Of names And dates. Echoes-- Don't wait! Don't wait! |
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