elderly
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NO, it is NOT good to suffer...
When one is wee one young...
For that can scar a person unto death...
And make one not wish to breathe their very next breath.
But it IS good to suffer...
Elderly man asleep in the hospital bed
Moving so slightly
His respirations become
the only sign
He is not dead
I move his feet back in the bed
as they slide out every now and then
You wouldn’t think
His eyes would shine so bright
Beneath those clouds that fog his sight
But they’ve been aglow since ‘25
You wouldn’t think he would be so kind
I've heard people speak of angels
Some describe their features as such
They are young women
Beautiful, youthful, pure, and fair
They adorn shining halos and silky soft wings
I met you at the nursing home,
T’was Bingo we were to play,
You brightened as we entered,
as I asked about your day.
Dear Older Woman in the Grocery Store,
I am your cashier.
I scan your cookies, your cakes, your medications;
I make polite conversation, delicately choosing my words
As you delicately chose and scribbled each item
10/6/16
My Dearest Grandson,
I know that writing letters may be relics of the past,
and sending emails online are more convenient and fast,
but I couldn't help but write one since I have your new address,
The crevices on his face told a story,
It spoke of his failures and glory.
The lines around his mouth told of laughter.
His ring promised forever after.
His breathe was slow and silent.
Imagine the time that you used to be able to remember.
You have to imagine,
because you can no longer grasp that memory.
The feeling of something almost there,
torments you.
Ive never seen a women with hair so fair.
Wrinkled skin but she wears Chanel.
92 with looks of 62.
She's great.
Warm Heart like her favorite blueberry muffin.
Devastated by loneliness...
Mammy Gas’s old age is showing
Her steps unsteady, trembling fingers
I look at her; it’s difficult knowing
Very little strength within her lingers
The phone rings
No one is there.
The door opens
"Hello!"
Cookies baking
No one likes the dot-dots.
The computer is on
Internet surfing commences.
Over the walkie
How naive are we to believe that the civil rights movement is over?
Is it because we can all vote for our presidents?
Because no black man has to fear a master, running away from the screams?
