LENORE
The last coherent look my mother gave me
As she lay on what would become her deathbed
Was when I asked her, “How are you feeling, Mum?”
Too doped up on painkillers to do anything
But slip into a coma, she turned her head
And gave me a look that said, “How do I feel?
HOW DO YOU THINK I FEEL, YOU LOUSY KID?!?!”
That’s the first thing that comes to mind now when
I think of her –- that wounded, dying look
That makes me want to cry: “Oh God, I’m sorry!”
But the dead can’t forgive, any more than
The living can stop acting like idiots.
The last coherent look my mother gave me
As she lay on what would become her deathbed
Was when I asked her, “How are you feeling, Mum?”
Too doped up on painkillers to do anything
But slip into a coma, she turned her head
And gave me a look that said, “How do I feel?
HOW DO YOU THINK I FEEL, YOU LOUSY KID?!?!”
That’s the first thing that comes to mind now when
I think of her –- that wounded, dying look
That makes me want to cry: “Oh God, I’m sorry!”
But the dead can’t forgive, any more than
The living can stop acting like idiots.
-- Matthew Wells
