Swallowing
Rich died.
So quietly, so accepting.
So full of grace.
He found it harder and harder to swallow
and so he stopped—swallowing. Then took
a quiet week or so to pass—pass is the word—seamlessly
over.
I thought I knew him, but his memorial brought out parts
I didn’t know. I sat as I often do at funerals, regretting
not knowing better. Not having visited one last time.
Why did we rush off from that last porch stay? Off to
do what trivia?
When I thought I was dying, how unimportant
so much seemed. I thought of the people
who would grieve me and I sorrowed for
their sorrow.
Rich wouldn’t have wanted people to make a fuss.
But a little fuss, surely, Rich? You can
swallow that?
A gentle grief for a gentle death,
remembering you as your sons remembered you,
with wry humor and misty love, a grief
settling the soft earth over you as tenderly
as a heavy dew covers
an April garden.
That’s not too
much fuss,
is it, Rich?
8 thoughts on "Swallowing"
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Such a beautiful piece, thank you for sharing it. The second to last stanza has such impact for me- the gentleness, the reverence, the loss.
Beautiful, with such sincere emotion. The repetition with “fuss,” so effective. My heart broke for you at the poem’s end.
A beautiful tribute to a very nice man, Joe. I always was glad to see him. This brings him back to me for a moment.
Wonderful. Your uniqe voice !! I know I say this all the time but its a comfort hearing your voice in your poems.
Beautiful homage.
Lovely honor paid to a friend! Love the repetition of some words, the many uses of swallowing. I’m sure he would have approved!
I love a misty love. Stunning poem.
Beautiful, thoughtful piece
love your -inserted-strong edict, “pass is the word”