12 July 2012

Last Visit

Stark, white walls in a antiseptic room
Computerized monitors of life, their silent beeping tones
It was the last time I saw, your black pain riddled body
You were not my grandmother, just a hallucinatory spirit, curled in a fetal posture
Anticipating father time
I gazed into a face lined with rough living
The cotton fields of Little Rock
To the hospital corridors of Wilmington, as a domestic
I stroked your callused hand, an angel in white
Administered medication, which you promptly spit out
Eyes closed, all the while, you, ready to die
With a smile
Four days later, in your shallow sleep, you passed away
Buried, to the hymn, of Amazing Grace.

4 April 1994

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