I can hear the wind rustle

your grey Brillo-like hair.

I can hear the dust sand-blasting

your old-aged skin.

 

I can see your liver spots,

sprouting on your cheeks,

and on the palms of your hands

that held mine for so many years.

 

I can smell the scent of your urine,

as you struggle to make it to the toilet in time.

I can still smell the first bouquet of flowers

you bought me so many years ago.

 

I can touch your face filled with folds and creases,

and admire the years I’ve grown with you.

I can fall in love with you,

just by gazing into your foggy eyes.

 

I can comb your knotted hair clean,

I can place your worn shoes on your feet,

I can help you walk up the stairs,

I can give you your different colored medications.

 

I can hear the disease crawling on your surface.

I can listen to it penetrate your soul.

I can see the vivid dreams which you now act out.

I can look at the warmth you distribute through your native tongue.

I can smell the chocolate chip cookies baking in the oven.

I can feel the first snowfall we shared in the park.

 

I know you are fading away,

slowly reaching upwards,

to your night-time bed.

Slowly, leaving this place,

peacefully.

 

 

 

© 2003 David Greg Harth

03.09.26.12:52:57@296NYC