The Loss of Your Companion

When my wife was actually dying
She and I didn’t know it
She said it was the worst headache ever
And I put a hot washcloth on her forehead
And then
She said “Thank You”
And then
She curled up and went to sleep

I went downstairs and thought about
The lone deer that came into our backyard
Years ago, lost in the suburbs
Lost from her companions
Just stopped and gazing at nothing, really

And then I couldn’t wake her up
She couldn’t talk to me
She moaned and put her hands in the air
Like she thought she was falling
Even though she was safe in bed

I always pay attention to the sirens
I try to determine if they are the police
Or an ambulance or something else
But when I called them of course
I knew it would be an ambulance

The white hospital enveloped her and she
Shrank into a complicated bed
An electrical bed with signals and functions
Her brain was playing staccato
Free pulses with nowhere to go
Gazing at nothing, really.

Her body ran for one hundred and twenty hours
And then stopped, quietly,
Like it didn’t want to disturb anyone
Like it was apologizing for not being much of a challenge
For the intelligent bed
And the humming of soft machines.

We would go to the park
She would look for the deer
The park was lousy with deer
And she would count them
“There are fourteen”, she would say
And then look for other deer,
Somewhere else, in a place
We hadn’t been before.