Breathing

A poem about the death of my grandmother.

Breathing

The rhythmic rattle of a dying woman’s breath.
The gurgling foreboding of death.
The silence in the scared hearts at the truth so plain.
The mute echo of mortal pain.

Breathe in...
Almost there.
Breathe out...
Almost gone.

The pain and shame and agony upon her face.
The outrage at this last disgrace.
The kiss upon her mouth to say that it’s okay.
The hope I had of one more day.

The final look over my shoulder as I went.
The way she lay there, asleep, spent.
The telephone call, the tears and the story of,
The way she died, embraced by love.

Breathe in...
Almost there.
Breathe out...
Gone.