r/OCPoetry•8 yr. ago

22 black male, nonverbal, gunshot wound, 3 months

Feedback Received!

Have you heard the cry
of a motherless child
as he lays down his darling head
to die?

Sprawled across the bed
like a blue Picasso.
Skin dark; chafed at the edges,
his eyes speak.

They ask me:

Why, and how, and what the fuck
did I do
to deserve this

cruel, random, lonely,
pain?

His eyes ask me things we both know i cannot answer.

I look away.

I look away because i am a coward.
I look away because i do not know how to help him carry this pain.

I look away
because i feel like a

cruel, random, lonely
stranger.

He reaches out and grabs my hand; our fingers lock
and my thumb presses down gently in a circular motion
on that soft gap of flesh between his thumb and forefinger
as if to say:

I see you,
I hear you,
I will share your pain.

He mimics me.
His thumb making that same circular motion
on the back of my hand.

Suddenly he releases
and his body twists
grasping the bed frame
as if possessed.

Pining for what
I don’t know;
the sheets drift away
genitals exposed.

Dignity is an afterthought
at the end
of life.

I refuse to look away.
I take in the scene;
all of its horrific beauty.
I stare deeply into his eyes
as if to say:

I feel you,
I know you,
I love you.
I will share your pain
for this moment
as best i can.

I am a hospice volunteer and this is based on one of my experiences with a patient. The title refers to the patient, the illness, and the expected length of remaining life. I am thinking about doing a series of these.