A Meal for the Sick
A Meal for the Sick
A tray with a vased plastic flower and a get-well card by a paper napkin holds barely warm consommé and
melting green Jell-O.
He tries the dry toast dipped in weak tea and sighs, remembering bratwurst with sauerkraut,
apple strudel and cream, brandy poured into darkly brewed coffee.
The days of spice and spirit gone, dusty grime on the plastic flower
befits the meal.
The greeting card unsigned, unread–
the napkin a crumpled handkerchief
absorbing a consommé sea
The sick-hungry diner has finished.
6 thoughts on "A Meal for the Sick"
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This poem sears through me with the thought that the very small things that people think will not be seen or noticed, often become the whole world for those who are sick and dependent upon those in their immediate world to care. It also hits me as a very sad recognition of the loneliness of being trapped in a limited world absent of care. It paints a reality far often is too true, reminding us how important it is to care. Thank you Nancy for speaking hard truths.
Oh my. Nancy, this is at once beautiful and heartbreaking. Many of us have watched this scene unfold. But you have captured it with grace that makes us think. Thank you!
Nancy – What a wonderful poem. I was born in the city of Bratwurst, so I can relate. Love “The days of spice and spirit gone.” So enjoyed this!
That was my favorite line too! Such a powerful poem that speaks so specifically to a universal experience.
Very well done!
I often think about how the elderly are so often dismissed as if their lives hadn’t been vibrant. You’ve really captured this here:
He tries the dry toast dipped in weak tea and sighs, remembering bratwurst with sauerkraut,
apple strudel and cream, brandy poured into darkly brewed coffee.