September 19, 2013

And I will leave you knowing

The euthanasia room's walls are replete
with poems, trite poems by amateurs
that comfort nonetheless. Another verse
on unconditional love this, a portrait
or broken-hearted footnote. I
never did enough for you, though I tried,
when even the way you died was kind, Bear,
grey chin on my wrist, not a whisper, no
loosened bowels or pee, just a softness flown
softer. Silent now the throat with the burr
of quick wings, only quiet the stethoscope finds 
along the lifeless ribs. I nibble your
notched ear once more, give up my burden,
write yet more words unequal to their muse.

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