Our Last Home on Earth

I step gingerly through doors,
that shelter precious treasures.
When we are not sure anymore,
we put our loved ones away for care.

Walking down the hall,
I pass tasteful flower arrangements,
cozy corners to chat, make calls
read fashion magazines.

She stands outside her room,
clutches a frayed housecoat.
Looking frail, wears a touch of gloom,
once bright, now in a world of make believe.

She shakes, placing an object in my hands.
Lovingly, she has painted it, taking hours.
A box of gold on embossed cardboard,
it is filled with violet and white flowers.

“I made it just for you,” she whispers.
“I remember violet in your curtains.”
It is rose, Mom, the color of your sweet cheeks.
She waits for a look of praise, knowing, certain.

A smile, like her heart, is fragile,
any unkind word might break.
I feel the tears, remembering
my children’s ornaments, lots of love to make.

Was this change for her or me?
For an angel with broken wings,
it seems a lovely place to call home.
Wonderful caretakers to help with everything.

This world has gentle brave souls.
Some wear bibs and diapers.
I watch a gentleman, his napkin folds
to wipe his lady’s quivering mouth.

Machinists, makers of precision molds.
Healing physicians, bright scientists.
Politicians, Judges, heroic soldiers.
Teachers, musicians, artists

These are our libraries.
Keepers of legacies.
Pillars of wisdom.
Lovers of Life.

Lord, you alone know the worth of each soul,
for these are your best and brightest.
We will miss them more than we know,
as they walk through the gates of your mansion.


By Kathie Stehr
May 2009




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