Monday, January 30, 2012

A Poem Written As A Text


My mother is ill.
She hasn't been able to talk right
for 20 hours.
Strained squeaks fill the kitchen
every time she does try.
My thoughts drift too…,
it's not time yet for that…
eventually, though,
all systems wind down
and stop.

Small changes become permanent.
Her mother woke up with a closed throat.
Four days later she passed away.
The dog tap dances across the floor.
He doesn't want to go out.
He can't tell us what he wants.

Last night,
I dreamed of the Emerald City.
I was approaching a steep hill in a car.
I was excited.
I started to drive up the hill
to see what lay on the other side.
It was my last day in the city.
This was my last chance.

Rain fills the sky.
Water seeps up
from the depths of the ground.
The atmosphere
is filled with danger.


---William James, 01242012


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