Monday, October 11, 2010


he began reaching out
behind him
to his left side
knowing someone was there to take his hand
sensing some seriousness
as high-flow oxygen hissed
in his chapped nostrils

I am not going home
I have no clothes here

his left hand moved toward his forehead
we thought he was in pain
and called for a nurse

but, maybe he was just trying to remember
struggling to pull just one
more memory out
a lucid argument that would allow him to live
a little while longer

the morphine delivered
a detached, dreamy comfort
as the demands of his body
diminished one by one

when finally
the promise of his soul
let him go

Barry DeCarli
October 8, 2010
Copyright 2010 Barry DeCarli

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