Musings #45


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.