for Merry
Though she could barely carry
a conversation, she could still sing,
so I would sit by her nursing home bed
and sing Moon River and her eyes
might not even open, but
her lips would start to move,
wider than a mile, I’m crossing
you in style someday.
Her voice was wobbly, perhaps,
but her notes were true,
and she’d smile as she sang.
Old dream maker, you
heart breaker, wherever you’re goin’,
I’m goin’ your way.
She’d been nowhere but
this bed for years,
but I could see behind her eyes
she was aiming toward some
imperceptible future,
a drifter, off to see the world
beyond this one.
And I would hold her hand
and she would squeeze it.
If she could hear the tears
in my voice, she didn’t say so.
We’d sung together since I was a girl,
show tunes in her kitchen
and hymns from the choir loft in the church.
Her soprano, a beacon of my childhood.
Now, in a room far from her,
I light a candle as she drifts away,
and sing as if she could hear me,
there’s such a lot of world to see,
my voice cloudy, as if any moment
it might start to rain and that
rainbow’s end might appear,
and for a moment, we could
look at it together before
she goes around the bend, alone.
Thanks for this one, Rosemerry. I hope that I can help someone go around the bend. I hope someone will help me.
thank you, Rick. Yes, we need each other. Hugs to you, friend.
Incredibly beautiful poem – an incredible gift you have been giving to a loved one – and this poem is a gift to read, to heed. Thank you.
thank you, Jazz, so many gifts she gave/gives me. Many hugs to you,
r
And in the end it all comes down to this – a song sung and a hand held. Who could ask for anything more?
Joan, yes, so exactly so. As Ram Dass says, “We are all walking each other home.” That simple.
All rivers run to the sea, but could there be some who also drift by-elusive as the moon and finally run dry?
oh yes, in fact many of the rivers in the west … consider the Colorado River, which no longer meets the ocean