Calling Home

Mom weighed next to nothing as she lay dying; the hospital bed displaying the decreasing

Pounds like a stopwatch ticking off seconds. I couldn’t take my eyes off the digital

Readout, like maybe if I concentrated hard enough the numbers would reverse themselves.

One twenty seven would read one seventy two and the cancer cells would be rubbed out like

Misspelled words on a fourth grade composition. Little pink eraser dregs lingering,

To be brushed away by pudgy fingers. The marks still visible, but inconsequential. A week 

After she died I dialed her number to relay a student’s amusing comment about 

The complexity of simple machines, but realized after the third ring that I’d lost her forever.

I could not concentrate enough or erase fast enough to bring her back, to hear her voice. 

Author: nananoyz

I'm a semi-retired crazy person with one husband and two cats.

4 thoughts on “Calling Home”

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