Tuesday Poem: "Cruel Trick"

Mother, you gave me everything:

life, love and all the landmarks

of my moral landscape.

But I stand empty-handed and heavy-hearted

with no talisman

to ward off your unseen adversaries.

You know what I know:

that your memory is failing,

chipped away by turns, small and fragmentary.

I cannot “make it better” by kissing away

your suffering as you once did mine.

Like some Mongol Khan in the ebb of his empire,

confusion has crept under your tent-flap

and you wake to find its clammy hands

around your throat.

Your husband had an almost perfect death,

a couple of months of physical frailty,

his mind clear, his spirit accepting,

crossing the threshold through sleep,

his last sight that of the woman

he had loved deeply for fifty years.

This I wanted for you:

the life in full flame snuffed quickly,

not this cruel trick

of knowing your dignity is decaying

and waiting for a merciful exit.


POET'S NOTE: The movie star, Bette Davis, once said: "Old age ain't for sissies". I think she knew what she was talking about.