The thin, failing sheath
That is her skin
Gently beats to the rhythm
Of her frail pulse,
A lattice of veins
Visible, now, to my naked eyes.

I can see into her;
The wintered barrenness
Of her recently autumned terrain.

She chokes down her favorite,
Ice cream –
The effort consumes
Vastly more calories
Than her indulgence will provide.

I rub lotion
Into the new sink holes
That were once her cheeks.
She closes her eyes,
A little heaven seeps
Into her reverie;
And we are satisfied
For one thin moment.

I incline toward her good ear,
Tell her, through
A bellowed enunciation
That I love her,
And that my visit is over,
That I must leave –
Again.

Her face contorts,
Communicates her anguish
Much louder
Than the crackling
That has kidnapped
Her once-lyrical voice.

She closes her eyes,
As if the darkness she finds there
Might negate the impact
Of her dwindling reality.

She doesn’t understand
Why I had to move
So far, far away.
I cannot pacify
Her breaking heart,
Nor the remorse
I tuck into my luggage
As I fly the 2500 odd miles
Home.

02/02/2013

Author's Note: On visiting Oregon for a week, and trying to say goodbye to my 93 year old grandmother, whose life is trickling to its end, and my brief but wrenching considerations of trying to figure out how to stay with her to that end vs. coming back to Pennsylvania. Update - she actually passed 12 days later, just moments into Valentine's Day. My family says she was waiting for me. Thank you to all who made it possible for me to do that.

Posted on 02/02/2013
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