Poem #1

Poem #1

 

“I sang the dew,” the letter began, the simple words making death feel suddenly so far away. I read them again to ensure I wasn’t mistaken whilst the machines kept on with their machinic beeps, their monodies to me. Outside the willow scraped the frosted window and a wan December simpered through. It was true. You sang the dew. So you said in your letter to me. I gripped the page tightly, and read on, wondering just what other part of our youngest years you’d pluck and prepare for addition to this soup of medications being pumped, drop by vitalizing drop, into me.