TOUCH IS THE LAST TO GO
I start to tell her the doctor thinks
she is much closer now. After all
she has said about wanting to die,
I assume this news will comfort her.
But those eyes, that barely stay open
these days, widen and stare. I swear
I can hear the questions
swirling in her head – what’s wrong?
maybe a blood test? do I need surgery?
So I make light of what I’d begun to say
– he’s new, you’ll fool him! –
and quickly change the subject,
ask her about the past,
chat about my day.
She tires, shuts her eyes.
I brush her hair, stroke her forehead –
as if my fingers could discover
what she really wants.