The Hotel by the Lake

We were travelers together,

you said of those nights of false hope

when she would say, "I think this is it."

By then you were sleeping

on a cot near the door,

and the strength of her voice in the dark

was like her hand holding your wrist.

You would wake your father,

pack her toothbrush and nightgown,

and he would help her into the car.

By then she was bloated,

her tissues spongy with water,

the cancer blossoming in her body.

Each time it was the same hospital room.

"This is where I'm going to die,"

she would say, and there was nothing

to stop her from saying it

to you, to your father.

He stayed home after the first rehearsal and said,

"You go. She feels more comfortable with you."

To the end she thought

the doctors would put her to sleep

the way it was done with animals,

simply,

the way one brought the family

dog to the vet's.

Sleep in a vial on a small metal tray.

A day to plan for,

to mark on the calendar.

She told you which dress she wanted to wear.

There were mornings she woke

disappointed to find

she was still alive.

CATHY SONG

The room had no view

but at night

when the hospital was quiet

and she was asleep,

the soft closing of a door down the hall,

the dim light at her bedside,

a cough heard somewhere,

made it seem as though it were a hotel,

like the hotel in Switzerland by the lake

where the two of you had stayed one summer.

And you were simply traveling together,

your mother having turned in early

for her "beauty sleep,"

and you, up late as usual,

studying the map,

planning tomorrow's itinerary,

taking care of everything -

the suitcases packed and ready

for the porter's knock in the morning.

ADAGIO

She lifts her hands

like seagulls above the keys,

the stubborn teeth of notes

she must sink and rise into,

giving herself to music.

Music met most days with resistance,

small fingers confined to a drill of steps.

Every good boy does fine.

All cows eat grass.

This is going nowhere,

I can hear her sigh.

I know.

I've been there.

I can see where I jumped

into air, mid-flight