Curious thing
consciousness, slippery,
trickery?...
how you can ease in,
ease out.
Even more curious,
the effect of
drugs in the hospital.
Standing tall by the rail
he was.
Tall as life.
But not.
I awoke thinking that
a chicken bone had caught
in my heart.
But all it was
was the dryness,
the heaving heaviness
of grief un-grieved
tempered and even honed
by my new illness.
Why do the dead come back
in strange places? At odd times?
At hospital bedsides?
I checked the solidness
of my flesh, patting my
arms, legs, feeling the
protruding IV's,
making sure I was
substantial.
Then joy
surged through me.
I knew I would be well again.
Life would taste
all the better.
The air crackled
with electricity.
He, no longer at the bedside, but
pulled backward
through a solid tunnel of light
when I closed my eyes.
I blessed him, his journey
and for the journey
I had yet to finish.
Not so much a poem as recorded so not forgotten.
Pay attention to all your dreams. I do. They are messages.
Not quite dream? Not quite reality. During recent hospital stay.
Copyright July 22,2013 All Rights Reserved By this Author
Melissa A Howells Meloo from her Tilt-a-World
