Nana

She is dying a slow death now.
After years of
Globe trotting
Cha cha ing
Bridge and bowling and dinner parties
Elks and Manhattans and pot roast beef
Friends and frappes and Florida fun.

At 88,
She packed up decades
Of trinkets and tin cans and tablecloths stained.
She sold her car, her condo, and her Chinese cabinet
And checked into Crestwood,
Home of the half living
Where inmates trade their fox trot for a thorazine shuffle
And complain of being lonely
But are never alone
Shadowed by crutches and canes and chairs with wheels
Breathing machines and Marley's ghost.

Stock-market-crash kid,
The chains she forged in life are pilfered.
Silverware off restaurant tables and towels out of hotels.
Shoes of the dead woman
Snatched greedily
Like the charlady of Ebenezer Scrooge.

Ghost of children past.
Don't ask me for help buying a house. My money's all tied up.
No, I simply can't help you.
I have a trip, a dinner party, a bowling tournament, friends visiting.
Cocktail, anyone?!?

She is dying a slow death now.
After outliving loved ones
And waving goodbye to pals
Headed home to their children.
After retiring her retirement,
She now works at being miserable,

At slowing bleeding out all the memories of her good life
Until there is nothing left to do except
Wonder why she is still alive.

Why Hast Thou Forsaken Me?
For Annie

What would it take, Lord?
Suffering ceaseless malignant migraines?
Walking to work on my hands and knees?
Never again seeing the spring?

Or must the sacrifice be more Biblical?
Slain sheep at the altar?
Locusts, floods, an eye for an eye?

In that last case,
I will need to be
Stretched out on a slab
Of ice-cold ICU,
Intubated with longing for a cold drink of water
Sedated with sweet dreams of Giles
While the other saviors in white robes
Lift up my life support in ritual rhythms
Of beep, beep, beep,
Idolizing the intravenous antibiotic,
Worshipping the warp and woof of wellness regulators.

And so I say again, Lord,
What would it take
To stop the insanity of intensive care?
Hang a bag of humane?
Infuse a drop of dignity?
What would it take
To restore a semblance of beneficence,
And right this surgery gone wrong?

Or will it simply take me to stop bargaining,
That desperate human affront to omnipotence,
And just fall into a heap and
Beg.

Kim M. Baker has been teaching writing in academe and business for 15 years. She currently is a writing coach at Roger Williams University School of Law in Bristol, RI. Kim has performed her poetry in Providence, RI at Got Poetry Live, sponsored by Got Poetry

Email: Kim M. Baker

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