Tuesday, August 30, 2011

No One Starves to Death at the Hospice House

Jim couldn't eat anymore.
His cancer ate him instead as he watched the Food Channel.

He fed me one-liners when I checked on him every  hour.
"Been dying to see ya, babe," he whispered.

After evening rounds I took him some hopeful pie and coffee,
and sat on his bed to help with the cup.

"You finish it for me, sweet," he said, after a polite effort.
I held his wasted hand.

I held his hand and we talked about his life,
while nearby a ghostly Julia beat eggs into a distant pan.

1 comment:

  1. For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, ... I was sick and you visited me... ‘Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.’ What a spiritual food feast it would be to hold your hand and review one's life. What a bounty to hold the hand of God. You are sweeter than pie and warmer than good coffee.