He was dying slowly, and I
was impatient.
The bell, sewn on his pillow,
called and called.
All afternoon as it rang,
I would go to him.
He would whisper slurred words,
as I leaned into his deaf ears.
What do you need? What can I do?
Water? Do you want water?
He’d groan, his eyes lost
somewhere in the distance.
What do you need? What do you want?
As if I did not know.
(November 18, 2021)
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