She sleeps in folds of thin sheets and thicker meds—
After twenty-four, then twelve more
hours of no food or water. Like two friends jogging,
her body stops to wait for her flagging spirit, redeeming no breath.
From the sidelines at home, I wait for the call.
Halfway ‘tween fear and relief, I don’t go to bed.
I stay up: listening to whistling snow, sounding like songs sung to us kids;
watching shows we might have watched, had she wanted more.
In the empty chill of a person’s final winter, too cold and tired is regret,
‘cause suddenly it’s midnight. And the day has arrived anyway.
And all I have done is miss the dream of a happier death.