To go in a puff of feathers, a glory of days,
Soft as clouds of air
Gone – gone – gone.
There are worse things,
Lying there
Suffering in white sheets – tethered to machines’
Endless beeping – intake and outtake monitors -
The blue of fluorescent lights pulsing about you.
A constant parade of people checking, checking, checking,
Reluctant to let you go in case they might save you.
‘For what?’ is the unasked question.
‘For what – please?’
It’s late in the day for golf.
Americans fear death like quiet.
Both are becoming hard to find.
Shop Rite makes me bless my deafness.
Feathers and glory
It isn’t all bad to explode out of life
Rather than wait for some soul to pull the plug or
An electrical storm to do what people fear.
Please God send a power outage -
I’m outta here.
Like this:
Like Loading...
Published by
Cynthia M. Sheward
Cynthia Sheward has written poetry since she was a child. She was born in Massachusetts but spent her young life in New Jersey. She applied her English degree from Arcadia University teaching junior-senior high school in Vermont the 70’s. In the 80s, she and her husband built their own house with their own hands in the mountains of North Carolina. In the 90s, she returned to NJ where she worked for a Fortune 500 corporation until her retirement.
Her work has been published in Friends Journal, Evening Street, the Bennington Banner, Fiber Arts Magazine, the Mountain Times and various other print media.
She currently resides in Jupiter, Florida.
View all posts by Cynthia M. Sheward
I love it Cindy. It makes so much sense and is beautifully written.
LikeLike
Thank you, Suze.
LikeLike