An Act of Letting Go

Poetry

Photo by mari lezhava on Unsplash

Have you come for your portion of sorrow?

a blank gaze fixed beneath a careless wisp of white hair

one foot in this world and one in the next —

a well-upholstered grief cushions our waiting

while newly-born fears take hold

every night when you text “Good night, I love you.” —

so final —

just in case you don’t wake up in the morning.

we all know what it’s for.

random laughs between sorrow —

lucidity between dreams —

and your words begin to slur

because your muscles refuse to cooperate with your brain —

a cruel jest for a man who used to crouch behind home plate

sturdy thighs and back for throwing a runner out at second

or lifting his sons high into the air to plop down on his shoulders

riding high —

safe.

eyes creased with kindness and joy

hands cobbled and calloused —

capable hands —

that can no longer grip the bedrail to pull themselves up.

So we salvage what’s left —

like scrap metal junk yards behind a chain-link fence —

and death —

a lurching, mangey, mutt

waits for the right moment to

pounce.