Holding a Dying Woman’s Hand As She Arrives

I was not there when you died

Photo by Levi Ventura on Unsplash

I was not there when you died;
only when you were dying
I watched the process of departure
Or, I suppose, the church-goer in you
Would call it an arrival,
like the way you arrived into your
body when you saw that I was there;
Your eyes filled with meaning, your hand
found me, grip weak, skin
thin as cheesecloth, and, mouth
leaden and weak…