Dad asked me to kill him yesterday,
To make him not be there.
His hand I held, not enough,
His chest for once quite bare.
He asked to set his feet on the floor
To raise him upright
So that he might in standing
Speed his flight
From here into who knows where.
He thought in other states
He could call the shots.
Could we take him there?
An author insistent on his plots,
"Take me now,
Now I say,
Not another hour,
Now, today,
Show me ultimate care."
He gestured with his fingers,
Asking for a gun.
I shook my head
For I had none.
Disappointed again,
His will undaunted,
He asked again
My care unwanted
For his end to come quite square.
What is it that we owe each other
When comfort tires and fades?
Is there any one thing,
A foolproof answer that aids?
Like the Old Prioress
The Carmelite
He must make his own way
Into the darkening night
To whatever he find there.
Pain can be dulled,
Anxiety eased,
A peace can be bought
That Death be seized.
At last, at last,
By the quiet, fog strewn pond
He, alone, finds an opening
A path that does respond,
That place the night must share.
The early morning mist
Shrouds the rock island near.
Some of evening’s fog remains,
But harkening day augurs clear.
We chart our own course now,
Remake, rebuild,
Use that night to fashion day.
Let each demand a sentence
That gives us time to dare.
