This Morning I Am Listening to Roger Miller’s Lowest Notes

I saw how she felt, so I sang along.
Not like before, when I wanted the sick
one to follow my cheerful tune. This time
I let the rhythm slow, eschewed the trick

of insisting she’ll be okay. What if the bone
doesn’t heal? What if the rungs of the spine
don’t reknit? I didn’t ask this, understand.
I just unfrowned my brow and took her hand.

She stroked mine, too, said, “Have you
ever seen anything as pretty?” and
of my love, “Is he not the sweetest man?
We rang the bedside bell. In a few,

a nurse arrived to dose her under once
more. Her gaze went blank for the nonce.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s