Late Thursday night,
after five hours of struggling to breathe
through the titanic gurgle in your throat—
only once squeezing my hand
to let me know you heard me,
you abruptly grasped more resolutely
as one might clutch an arm while fearfully stepping
from raft to boat on turbulent seas
You gripped my hand as if I were a fulcrum
pivoting you from one place to another
And then you opened your eyes,
looked at me, closed your eyes,
and died—
“Oh, sweetheart, you died,”
I cried,
“I can’t believe you died.”
In silence, more profound than the deepest forest,
I lay next to you
my fingers gently running through
the soft silky hair on your belly
until your core was as cold as the rest of you.
Excerpted from Beloved by Lois Tschetter Hjelmstad.
Poem: Blink of an Eye