At River’s Edge

She lay on her back all morning,
eyes fixed,
maybe seeing something
no one else could see,
cankered hands lifted toward the ceiling,
perhaps feeling the call
of children long ago
grown and gone
yet now still small,
reaching toward her.

Perhaps she saw the face
of her husband
dead now for five years,
ached for the feel of his flesh
once more.

She refused to eat
and the day before
and there was no store
of anything
in her eighty-four pounds
that could carry her ninety-nine years
forward for much more than this;
even her organs were shrinking.

No one could get a hint
of what she was thinking,
whether angst or anger
or if maybe she just hoped
that reaching toward heaven
she might find some unseen hands
reaching down to draw her out
of this shriveled prison
and she would be glad
for whatever she could gain
from fingertip to elbow

in shortening her time
left this side of Jordan.

H. Arnett

About Doc Arnett

Native of southwestern Kentucky currently living in Ark City, Kansas, with my wife of twenty-nine years, Randa. We have, between us, eight children and twenty-eight grandkids. We enjoy singing, worship, remodeling and travel.
This entry was posted in Aging, Christian Devotions, Death & Dying, Family, Metaphysical Reflection, Poetry, Relationships, Spiritual Contemplation and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to At River’s Edge

  1. This is very nice. I have a patient just like this woman, even the same age. Thank you for this.

Comments are closed.