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I:
1 am:
I plan to turn to clay one day,
the day I have my final say,
in search of a more earthy way
to make the bed on which I’ll lay.
It’s true I did consider hay,
but that would only mean delay.
Past the point of “might” or “may,”
it’s time for me to go to clay.
II:
Sitting
in the Lank Family
Lobby,
in the Berenson
Emergency Unit,
Beth Israel Deaconess Hospital
3:30 a.m.,
June 16, 2002,
Dad being admitted.
III:
In all the ways we say, “Good-bye,”
there lies an underlying lie.
The truth is that it’s rarely good.
I’d never leave you if I could.
Father and son aren’t meant to part.
They breathe together with one heart.
Don’t leave, but stay here by my side
through all the ebb and flow of tide.
You launched me on this life-long trip.
Now hold my hand, don’t let me slip.
To the end we’re pledged to stay.
Things were meant to be that way.
IV:
Inside the Emergency
Room,
5 a.m.,
Father’s Day,
twenty patients
groaning,
calling
for
their
mothers.
V:
Sleep is a beneficial state
that lasts until you fully wake
so get eight hours for Christ’s sake,
and don’t wait until it gets too late.
June 16, 2002