The Last Heat

I watch you whispering,

stones land roughly in my belly,

is this the end?

where has your mind gone?

How many more cloudy evenings will you praise?

"We needed a break from the heat," you say,

and dare I ask,

how hot will the final heat your skin soaks up be?

I am not skilled at grief,

can I become skilled?

will this be the skill that makes you finally proud?

Will the flicker of a hard life echo before the silence

or will you only see him, me, them, you, a hum of your mother's forgotten hymn

have you forgotten your mother?

Where has your mind gone?

I watch you whispering,

a ripple of guilt stirs in my heart,

my Genesis,

your Revelation,

I wish you could still see me as holy,

something to cherish,

untainted,

but more than what you see,

I wish I could be for you,

a ripple of something pleasant,

not something that hurts to look at.

I hear your murmur one last time,

a nebulous blur of language,

a tongue too tired to move,

teeth too decayed to chatter,

is this your end?

---

Seeing loved ones wither away is painful no matter how old they are. I'm not ready. I don't think you really can be.