After Hours

I watched the peaks of your egg-carton spine
writhe against the loose blue hospital knot
at your neck where the cotton fell away
after everyone else had gone.
I pressed my purpled feet, with yours,
against that ancient wooden bed frame.
Above us, in muted ecstasy
the history channel’s Indian women danced.
I envied their clasped gold-dusted hands,
remembering the pastor who hours before
had appeared at your bedside, Bible gleaming,
with that assured smile all believers own.
I wished for a painted elephant or glowing saint
to process through that stagnant and weary room;
to drape your shrunken neck with flowers and turn
your restless ageless moans to hymns.
We played the tape your father had left;
listened to man-made rain and unnamed birds.
Behind the thunder, I started to cry
realizing we’d have the charge
of manufacturing our own happiness
from now on.

Published in The Pittsburgh Post Gazette 2006.

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2 Comments Add yours

  1. Samanthamj says:

    Amazing. I can see why it was published & glad it was.

    Like

  2. gshorkblt2 says:

    Been a while between comments, but as long as looking at LI profile, seeing what some of Rest was about seemed legit. I’m very much a Prose Guy, tho I like to think I appreciate beauty in all its forms. I am growing to like my Director, Content Creation self-taking. Enjoy the weekend.
    Glenn S.

    Like

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