|
His Dying
by Kristina Woodhill
the men are angry
their friend is dead, starved and gone;
the preacher spoke, extolling the ever-after,
declaring the dead man would not want it
to be about him, friends' names folded
and shoved to the back
of the big black book, winked away;
the family spoke and fed us all ham
and scalloped potatoes and large staring
photos of his dying and who visited and his dying
and friends sitting next to his dying
in the chair with the big strong back
he sat down and waited to die
he waited to die, egging it on
sans egg, sans ham, no toast
to the virtues of the last man standing
he sat down and waited to die
like a count down to the tomb
the one with the big rock that
shuts the strong men out
leaves them sobbing at the table
napkins shredded in trembling hands
04/02/2011
Author's Note: Wayne S.(I write the name so I can remember the person involved) had some intestinal condition or disease that made digestion so uncomfortable and chronic he decided to starve himself to death. Friends came to visit during this dying process and his daughter would take a photo of each person standing or sitting next to Wayne in his recliner. It was macabre.
Posted on 04/03/2011
Copyright © 2024 Kristina Woodhill
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Jo Halliday on 04/03/11 at 05:12 AM Brilliant, Kristina! Though the poem is not related, it still strongly made me once again feel one of the forgotten films of Paul Newman, "Hud" - probably the strong virile stench. |
| Posted by Elizabeth Jill on 04/03/11 at 03:36 PM This form, well -you're brilliant with it. I am pulled in by this also because my father ... when he died, he did so like the Indian man who stakes himself out and looks the wolf in the eye. This brought me to that winter, when. |
| Posted by Ken Harnisch on 04/03/11 at 04:34 PM that I would know anyone who had died so uncompromisingly...sigh...just a handsome and utterly readable and readable again and again and again piece of poetry. |
| Posted by Charlie Morgan on 04/03/11 at 11:19 PM ...i know him, he's my mother-in-law. she died last friday and was like you describe him to be; love the resistence of 'being there' but not 'giving-up' |
| Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 04/08/11 at 11:59 AM Brings death startling to life! It is real, not pretty, but certain! Thank God there is also the certainty of a better life after death for those who are in Christ Jesus. |
| Posted by James Blaylock on 04/25/11 at 07:34 PM This piece made me see the tug-a-war between life and death. All of his friends/family seemed to be feeling deeply for his plight, but at the same time I saw them feeding their faces, in my mind's eye, with very little regard for him and his lack of hunger. Perhaps the Reaper has a few snack crackers, up his sleeve, for their forthcoming journey. |
| Posted by Joan Serratelli on 04/23/12 at 09:59 PM An unbelievable write. So matter of factly, yet at the same time: profound. Loved the form. You dealt with the subjectly realisticly |
|
