Today, before I left the hospice, I went to his room, I held his hand and I said my grandmother’s prayer, Psalm 23.
Then I went to his room, held his hand, and said my grandmother’s prayer, Psalm 23.
Then, finally, I went to his room, held his hand, and said my grandmother’s prayer, Psalm 23.
My way of saying goodbye.
All three of them, soon leaving, it was not the best of days.
Never forget.
skip to main |
skip to sidebar
"talk less write more"
"Many ingenious lovely things are gone that seemed sheer miracle to the multitude, protected from the circle of the moon that pitches common things about." -Yeats
Self Portrait
"talk less write more"
About Me
- claudine
- Born in Haiti, raised in Los Angeles, now living in the south. Wife, mother, and writer. Attempting my first novel called The Black Converse Diary; about a girl…… Also committed to the ongoing, almost forgotten, struggle against AIDS through various organizations. Mainly, volunteering at an AIDS hospice. Trying to find my own voice among the clutter. A strong, true voice that means something.
BLOG ARCHIVE
LIST IT
- "At the end of my suffering there was a door" (27)
- All Things Me (16)
- Hospice (7)
- To The Sea (1)
- Today (1)
- Waiting (1)
- World AIDS Day (3)
The Wild Iris
At the end of my suffering
there was a door.
Hear me out: that which you call death
I remember.
Overhead, noises, branches of the pine shifting.
Then nothing. The weak sun
flickered over the dry surface.
It is terrible to survive
as consciousness
buried in the dark earth.
Then it was over: that which you fear, being
a soul and unable
to speak, ending abruptly, the stiff earth
bending a little. And what I took to be
birds darting in low shrubs.
You who do not remember
passage from the other world
I tell you I could speak again: whatever
returns from oblivion returns
to find a voice:
from the center of my life came
a great fountain, deep blue
shadows on azure seawater.
Louise Gluck
there was a door.
Hear me out: that which you call death
I remember.
Overhead, noises, branches of the pine shifting.
Then nothing. The weak sun
flickered over the dry surface.
It is terrible to survive
as consciousness
buried in the dark earth.
Then it was over: that which you fear, being
a soul and unable
to speak, ending abruptly, the stiff earth
bending a little. And what I took to be
birds darting in low shrubs.
You who do not remember
passage from the other world
I tell you I could speak again: whatever
returns from oblivion returns
to find a voice:
from the center of my life came
a great fountain, deep blue
shadows on azure seawater.
Louise Gluck
THINGS I'M CRUSHING ON
- St. Aloysius
- Patches
- Apartment Story
- Cheekbones
- Padre Pio
- Louise Gluck
- Bloc Party
- Naked eyes with coat after coat after coat of black mascara
- The Bell Jar
2 comments:
Oh my, such a touching way to say goodbye.
L+, Thank you! You're comments are very much appreciated, even when it takes me awhile to respond. So, again, Thank You!
Post a Comment