by Jerome
Heath
heathj@hawii.edu
There we sit,
waiting...quietly.
Waiting to go in,
to see her...for maybe the last time.
But we really don`t want to go in.
"She doesn`t look good does she?"
"She certainly went fast."
"I remember her, just the other day..."
"She certainly went fast."
A nurse rushes by,
a rattling sound is heard from somewhere.
A cart is rolled down the hall.
Time passing...life passing.
There we sit,
in anxious silence,
waiting...quietly,
afraid to speak.
Waiting to go in,
wandering whose turn it is,
to see her... for maybe the last time.
How long can it go on?
But we really don`t want to go in.
"She doesn`t look good...does she?"
"She aged so much so quickly."
"She certainly went fast."
"I remember her, just the other day..."
"eyes sparkling, eager, excited for life,..."
"She certainly went fast."
A nurse rushes by
not looking, not seeing.
Rattling sounds are heard from somewhere.
A door creaks and clicks shut.
A cart is rolled slowly down the hall.
Footsteps are heard from a distance.
Time passing...life passing.
There we sit,
afraid to smile,
in anxious silence,
afraid to frown,
waiting quietly,
staring at the wall,
afraid to speak,
wanting to be respectful,
waiting to go in,
unless its too late,
wandering whose time it is
to make the sad trip,
to see her...for maybe the last time,
to glimpse the deterioration.
How long can it go on?
How many more times do we need to go?
But we really don`t want to go in.
"She doesn`t look good...does she?"
"She certainly went fast."
"It`s hard to imagine..."
"she aged so quickly."
"I can hardly recognize her."
"She certainly went fast."
"She looks so pale."
"I remember her, just the other day..."
"happy, alert, bubbling,..."
"eyes sparkling, eager, excited for life,..."
"Where did that spark go?"
"She certainly went fast."
A nurse rushes by,
cold, professional,
not looking, not seeing.
Something is dropped in a room.
Rattling sounds are heard from somewhere.
Voices can be heard whispering.
A door creaks and clicks shut.
A bubbling noise is heard in the background.
A cart is rolled slowly down the hall,
it`s echoes are strangely muffled.
Footsteps are heard from a distance.
Someone coughs.
Time passing...life passing.
For goodness sake, tell those children to be quiet!
Jerome Heath
No more cold iron shackles on my feet - I`ll fly away
heathj@hawii.edu
Background Picture by Valerie Heath