Today's Poem . . .

Jean


A woman's face
on the cover of a magazine,
puffy, shining moon.
It took my breath away,
pushed tears to my eyes:
she looked so much like you
that last time we met.


The sign outside the door of your room
was made by one of your sons.
It warned all in the house to be quiet,
that a massage was in session.

A grim smile crossed my lips. 


How would I dare give you a "regular" massage,
you with your so-white skin, delicate as a child's,
you with more prescription bottles than I have ever seen
for one person at one time
cluttering the bathroom counter,
your name on the labels.


I placed my hands on you, gently, gently.
I watched the rise and fall of your chest as you slept.
The afternoon sun bathed us both in its golden light
but you were halfway gone,
halfway on to that other place
we all find alone.


Jean, you were not afraid
in that moment.
You accepted. You slept.

Inside, I know you were dancing.

--Amy Hoffman