Photo Art by Reka Jellema September 2014
Not your death
or the Maui lip-curl surf
in the poster above your head
Not the knife-juggling
French thespian I crushed
or the jeune fille he couldn't save
in the cinema
Not the white pines looming over us
casting shadows longer than the names
of your meds
those spindled pines aloof, cruel
needling our skin
Not the last frame
in the last post-apocalyptic
TV show in the last home
in the last living room
can
after all the calico cats
and Polaroids of Mom and Dad
cleft us
Was it how we grasped
at hands clutched each breath
close to the chest
hoarded oxygen in tiny sips
kept our setter's feathers soft to touch
on the green couch
your hospital bed with its accoutrements
knobs and railings the trappings of an end
glinting in late afternoon sun
October-yellow leaves
forever diagnose
forever
a settee for last days
equipped with dubious apparatus
the slurp and whir of the respirator
an exercise in improvisation,
this living
these arteries full
of toxins these veins and tendons
elastic and sunken
munchkin you shied
from this living
I hid with the Freud squad
watching reality
on a flat screen
blood drug-muddied
brain chemistry compromise
the day the white coats
bagged you
this living
this dog petting
we had to reach
to stroke our setter's ears
it was our ritual
he licked and licked
cleaned your feeding tube
your heavy lids half drawn watching
fluids sink and resurface
Not your death
Not your death
nor the Thai goddess bong hit
incantations of Aurelio Rodriguez
or sky miles leading straight
to cumulus
can
after all
the spit-up and graves dug
Not your death
or the heavens
looming like cliffs
can
after all
the chemo & burial
rift us
or the Maui lip-curl surf
in the poster above your head
Not the knife-juggling
French thespian I crushed
or the jeune fille he couldn't save
in the cinema
Not the white pines looming over us
casting shadows longer than the names
of your meds
those spindled pines aloof, cruel
needling our skin
Not the last frame
in the last post-apocalyptic
TV show in the last home
in the last living room
can
after all the calico cats
and Polaroids of Mom and Dad
cleft us
Was it how we grasped
at hands clutched each breath
close to the chest
hoarded oxygen in tiny sips
kept our setter's feathers soft to touch
on the green couch
your hospital bed with its accoutrements
knobs and railings the trappings of an end
glinting in late afternoon sun
October-yellow leaves
forever diagnose
forever
a settee for last days
equipped with dubious apparatus
the slurp and whir of the respirator
an exercise in improvisation,
this living
these arteries full
of toxins these veins and tendons
elastic and sunken
munchkin you shied
from this living
I hid with the Freud squad
watching reality
on a flat screen
blood drug-muddied
brain chemistry compromise
the day the white coats
bagged you
this living
this dog petting
we had to reach
to stroke our setter's ears
it was our ritual
he licked and licked
cleaned your feeding tube
your heavy lids half drawn watching
fluids sink and resurface
Not your death
Not your death
nor the Thai goddess bong hit
incantations of Aurelio Rodriguez
or sky miles leading straight
to cumulus
can
after all
the spit-up and graves dug
Not your death
or the heavens
looming like cliffs
can
after all
the chemo & burial
rift us
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