914 Metastatic Passing 06-12-2020

Only
all he knew
surrounded him:

The rhythmic compression,
squeezing, relaxing, squeezing
his ankles and calves;
The regulated flow of oxygen
through the tube
into his nose, throat, lung;
his breathing,
creating the soft sound, repeating,
souwch, souwch, souwch..
of waves washing over
the sandy shore
his memory held
just beyond the fog;
the monitors hung by his bed
beeping the pressure and rhythm
of his blood and heart;
those mermering voices.
Whose?
Why are they mumbling?
Who?

The origins of those constant sounds
now, to him, annoying mysteries,
like gnats around his neck,
always, just on the brink of solution.

All those blurred shapes
draped in white.
Who are they?

Emerging from those shadows,
a face,
so close,
so familiar,
Whose?
From somewhere,
vague.
He nearly recalled
but could not remember.
The touch of her hand.
The weight of her fingers
on his.
Yes?
He knew, once!
Knew!
But now,
who?
Try!
Her suddenly-there-features,
once his whole world.
Try! Try!
Gone.
Only the echo of her touch
remaining.

And now comes
those sounds,
again.
Waves of sound
around
him.
His body, now, lighter,
floating on cool water.
His name called from somewhere.
“Kenny?”
“Kenny!”
Mother
calling him home
from a warm, summer evening
by the Sound.

His body answering now.
His body,
so light!
And,
Now,
is the Light coming.
The Light,
now,
only.

About Ken Greenman

Married and Happy. Retired and busy. Living in NC. 71 and counting. December 12, 2020 and it's 72! ... I would love some written comments, critiques, adulation or kind suggestions.... If you have the time and or inclination, please feel free! Not in fear but by faith. We will see. See you later! If you ever want to talk for real, email me and I will send you my cell number.... I am enjoying this!
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