We came with offerings, to Dad, demented and dying.
Meant to fill the room with meaning. Instead,
today is the day of the Code Grey, the day security was called to assist.
We will make no meaning today.
Meant to fill the room with meaning. Instead,
Rebekah brought Richard Scarry’s Cars & Trucks and Things That Go, decided to leave it at home.
We will make no meaning today.
I brought vanilla ice cream and a cup of coffee, black. The coffee sat unnoticed on the windowsill.
Rebekah brought Richard Scarry’s Cars & Trucks and Things That Go,
read him the Urban Homesteaders chapter on mulching while he nodded.
I brought vanilla ice cream and a cup of coffee, black. The coffee sat unnoticed on the windowsill.
The ice cream, he lunged at- 1.2.3.4 bites. Droplets in his mustache.
Rebekah read him the Urban Homesteaders chapter on mulching while he nodded.
My stepmom read him The Hobbit. I brought picture books: Monet and Ansel Adams.
The ice cream he lunged at- 1,2,3,4 bites. Droplets in his mustache.
I waited till the sedative kicked in and I could get close- sat at his bedside and turned the pages.
My stepmom read him The Hobbit. I brought Monet and Ansel Adams.
He held the book, thumbed each page, searched for poppies, bridge, Paris in the rain.
I waited till the sedative kicked in and I could get close- sat at his bedside.
I brought books of gardens and the Metropolitan Museum of Art- Renaissance.
He held the book, searched for poppies, bridge, Paris in the rain.
On the white board at the foot of the bed- DNR.
I brought gardens and the Metropolitan Museum of Art- Renaissance.
Someone had taped up pictures of me and my sister, him smiling table-side in Italy.
On the white board at the foot of the bed- DNR.
Today, I brought the unimaginable- an apple pie from Mom. I offered it in outstretched hands.
Someone had taped up pictures of me and my sister, him smiling table-side in Italy.
Meant for him to devour like a favored Bible verse- he’d adjust his glasses, recite to anyone in the room.
I brought the unimaginable- an apple pie from Mom. I offered it in outstretched hands.
Together, we peered into an abyss, empty and hot.
Meant for him to devour like a favored Bible verse- he’d adjust his glasses, recite to anyone in the room:
But whence can wisdom be obtained? Man knows nothing, nor is it to be had in the land of the living.
Together, we peered into an abyss, empty and hot.
We came, with offerings, to Dad, demented and dying.
But whence can wisdom be obtained? Man knows nothing, nor is it to be had in the land of the living.
Today is the day of the Code Grey. The day security was called to assist.
Kasha Martin Gauthier lives outside Boston with her family. A member of PoemWorks: The Workshop for Publishing Poets, Kasha’s work is forthcoming or has recently appeared in Pangyrus, Breakwater Review, The Healing Muse, Slipstream, and Soundings East. Kasha’s poetry is informed by her family dynamics, upbringing in New Hampshire, and careers in business and cybersecurity.