Monday, June 6, 2016

For Grizz. May we meet again where the sun warms the ends of long days.
















Enough by Robin Chapman

There is always enough.
       My old cat of long years, who
              stayed all the months of his dying,
though, made sick by food,
       he refused to eat, till, long-stroked,
              he turned again to accept
another piece of dry catfood
       or spoonful of meat, a little water,
              another day through which
he purred, small engine
       losing heat—I made him nests
              of pillow and blanket, a curve of body
where he curled against my legs,
       and when the time came, he slipped out
              a loose door into the cold world
whose abundance included
              the death of his choosing.


Thursday, January 7, 2016

Her Long Illness by Donald Hall

This is a poem that speaks of pain, and loss, and patience, and frustration. But most of all it speaks of love.

Her Long Illness by Donald Hall

Daybreak until nightfall,
he sat by his wife at the hospital
while chemotherapy dripped
through the catheter into her heart.
He drank coffee and read
the Globe. He paced; he worked
on poems; he rubbed her back
and read aloud. Overcome with dread,
they wept and affirmed
their love for each other, witlessly,
over and over again.
When it snowed one morning Jane gazed
at the darkness blurred
with flakes. They pushed the IV pump
which she called Igor
slowly past the nurses' pods, as far
as the outside door
so that she could smell the snowy air.