Grandfather by Alison Grunwald

His days are pregnant

With imminent death

Grandfather, a child again,

Lies helpless like babe in cot

Newborn. Dreaming of the life to come

He senses those who welcome him

And longs for release.

Nightmares insist on breaking through

This foetal calm

Muffled sobs of the bereaved

Hands that gently caress, while others

With frantic adjustments

Burn his swollen skin.

Jabbing, piercing.  Without mercy

Holding back his ripening death

Heedless of the butterfly breaths

That sing and sigh his fond farewell.

If only they who love so hard

Could know this song is one of joy

A prayer.

“Let me go.  Do not weep. Let me go.”

Yet still the swish of nurses. Crisp

Starched smiles that hide the pain of knowing

Gently probing, wiping, turning

Murmuring “OK, that’s much better

“Now he’s clean.  We’re sure he’s listening.”