10-Line Tuesday

December 7, 2010

for my grandfather

Three days ago, my mother slid into the seat next to his hospital bed.
I can’t imagine, exactly, what she felt, looking at her father's brittle
frame against the mattress, or what words she spoke as she held
his hand. Maybe there was silence, instead, and some softness entered, little 
by little, his rigored, stubborn body, enough to lean his small weight back,
breathe in the last of what he could. I like to think these final hours between 
them were his best, the air tempered and yielding, a crack
of light falling into the room so he could catch this beauty of a woman,
his own child, delivering him toward peace. I hope he lay there, light 
and porous as air, love touching his bones farewell, wishing him goodnight.