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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