My bedside manner on display,
Quiet and unassuming,
I wait for an unprescribed end.
Play hide and seek. No hope to win.
Forbidden deviations by the soon to be departed,
I review instructions meant to keep faith with dying wishes.
Hospital utility flashes technology,
sounds warning bells,
blinks lights of recognition,
signals hope, offers rafts of data to the living. But
Silence hangs over her bed,
Save the intake of an occasional deep breath,
our world turned simple and pointedly small.
Hospice curtains swing in air conditioning,
A chaplain drops in.
A welcome respite,
heavy with realization, and
Restrained importance,
Tired of explaining,
Tired of dealing with this ‘oh so’ common human drama, unable to explain founding facts by analysis or reason.
Reduced by her disease to iron resignation,
She dies a bit angry and disappointed. Wistful of the stingy nature of time, she drifts into night, resolute in spirit and full of courage.
While her worldly friends sit and fret,
Watch for signs,
A miracle,
A rewind,
A reboot,
Willing to beg for indications of new directions.
The clock ticks unfathomed depths of emptiness, slowly closes once open doors.
Time’s middle finger stiffens the back.
A raw meat moment stirred by her irregular exhale, born of morphine,
Regret pasted on, we look with curious attention into her pale, placid face once animated by an eager smile.
Remember a rendezvous and fun times of engagement,
Memories of Scotland, sundry debates, hours of skating and hundreds of students, leaping and twirling, soaring high on Zephyr smooth ice.
With each indignant exhale from her late healthy body,
gray with betrayal;
the human predicament looms opaque as dust.
I sit with the drip of drug induced snores,
Peer into her mouth, gaping wide at still living,
No longer interested in conversation,
Open to release from competition,
Unimpressed by argument,
Overwhelmed by days of unrest,
She lives inside a self induced trance.
I practice smiles for her public; I watch the mystery of human performance and consider what matters: People come touch her skin, shed a tear, sad for their loss; People come timid and brave, say goodbye, sense her absence.
Weighed down by distress, I contemplate her willing leap into silence. Observe her sleep from a distance.
I begin to wonder, has death taken a vacation?
Imagine him entering the rink, take off across the ice, circle her to perform a routine, skating black ice,
Needing a great performance to entice her interest,
To tempt her with a swizzle, a lunge and a double axel,
Offer his hand to spin her around, invite her to perform a long death spiral with graceful posture,
Practiced at judging a skater routine wisely, she is weary and a bit wary, always the teacher.
His leaps and spins, catches her attention,
Beckons her to regale him with tales of teaching numerous ice skaters,
She describes well done pirouettes, gliding movement, and special routines,
He reels her into his eternal spin, out of life’s spiral.
And finally letting go, she lands her dream of a triple axle, takes a bow,
kisses the ice,
And waves goodbye to the love of her life.
THH
5/1/25
Thoughts Have Hands 