In the dim-
dark unnatural
light I watch
your oxygen
levels fluctuate
as you battle
to breathe
and hold
your icy
hand flanked
by mine, trying
to rub
life and
warmth into
your surprisingly
tiny digits.
Even retaining
fluid, your
fingers remain
delicate—
the nails
neat and
short, although
ghostly pale;
the lunula
crouched
at the base
of each
perfect nail
almost
invisible against
your pallor.
My own
arthritic
pair seem
outsized;
the gangly
veins
roaming
green
and helter-
skelter,
unchecked;
a rough map
of my life so
far; when you
stop, will
they?
Oh coming from Paul's poem of his dying mother to this.. such a delicate moment... I have noticed how small my mother hands are these day too...
ReplyDeleteThis ripped a piece of my heart out. It does feel so much like part of our life map ends, when we lose someone. I love that image.
ReplyDeletePart of being human is dying a little with the loss of each loved one, but reborn & rejuvenated with the birth of every grandchild; something I've done 7 times now.
ReplyDeleteThis is SO good.
ReplyDeleteThis is a very moving post and I can relate when I had to take care of my mother about 5 years ago. Your ending question very much sums up how we feel about our mothers ~ Thanks for participating and seeing you back in the D'verse trail ~ Hope the weather is warming up in your part of Canada ~ Take care & hope to see you soon (our OpenLinkNight is this Thursday) ~
ReplyDeleteThis is heart wrenching, but so powerful. The details of the hands in your poem are exquisite. I especially like this line...
ReplyDelete"the gangly veins running green and helter skelter, unchecked; a rough map of my life so far"
The strength of this piece is presented by your loving tone, Sharon. I did miss it for sure. Great to be posting with you again!
ReplyDeleteSuch strength such emotion in your verse.
ReplyDeleteWhat a great image of our veins as road maps for our life! Where we've been, and where we're going.
ReplyDeleteA vivd, emotive write!
ReplyDeletebeen there...you describe it well. I too found it a time to examine minutia...
ReplyDeleteThis is touching and beautiful. Peace, Linda
ReplyDeleteThis is touching and beautiful. Peace, Linda
ReplyDeleteI like how you end up comparing your hands to your mothers. The ending made me reflect on that with my own mother who is holding steady at 90...but will my hands end when hers do. My heart was touched.
ReplyDeleteYours is the second poem about the death of a love one that I have read on this theme - hands and death seem to go hand-in-hand. is it because hands are so expressive and a touch is sometimes better than a word? Beautiful poem.
ReplyDeletearthritic pair seem outsized;
ReplyDeletethe gangly veins roaming
Very accurate description of those afflicted, unsightly and painful.
Hank
Hands of Life
ReplyDeleteHands of Death..
Loving Hands...
StiLL hands...
Hands of
liFe... eYes of Love
live on as Hands
oF
LoVed..:)