Grandmother: Crossing Jordan

Rippling hospital sheets

circle your brown body

and you sink

for the third time,

ready to rise alone

on the other side.

I reach out for you

and pull and pull

until your skin tears

from the bones of elbow,

arm, wrist, and fingers.

How it hangs empty,

loose. A glove

too large

for my hand.

Structure

15 lines · 15 stanzas