It is my mother’s second
dying day.
I awaken, heart heavy,
to the house finch’s
happy song.
An accompanist,
as a spirit dances its
release
into eternity.
poem-ending December 2, 2015
So many questions I’ve wondered
Who was your first love?
Why did you make this decision?
What do you wish?
What have you learned?
What do you advise?
But you have always said,
each person takes his own journey,
what you learned was for you alone,
and so you’ve kept your secrets,
and soon I will be asking questions
to the wind.
poem- alienation September 18, 2015
She speaks of the alienation of senses.
vision fades
hearing lies
touch hurts
taste dulls
smell empties
What remains is the acute sense of memory
and occasionally a sense of humour
at the irony
of it all.
poem-what they said September 23, 2014
While he was dying
the nurses at his bedside
chatted with one another.
When he came back to life
he told them what he heard
and they could not
meet his eyes.
.
.
(true story)
poem-dying June 27, 2014
One tumour
one bed
two hands clasped
four walls
five chairs
eleven shallow breaths a minute
twenty-four syringes of pain meds
counting down now
four days since you ate
five days since you spoke
how many hours
of life?
.
.
.
Good bye Auntie Linda
who passed away at 10 p.m. June 26, 2014
apparently moments before I wrote this poem.
I’d been with her at 9 p.m.
.
poem- half a year June 14, 2014
Six months ago
you were fighting to play pickle ball
laughing on the small court
stretching your racket to hit the ball
stumbling and crashing onto the court,
filling your head with
flashing white fireworks,
exploding star bursts.
Now
you are fighting for two more weeks
laughing with guests in the small room,
stretching your life to see your children
stumbling and crashing against time
filling your belly with fluid,
flashing white pain
imploding your life
.
.
.
For Auntie Linda
Shawn L. Bird 