Forecast
The narrow path I shoveled up the steps iced over quickly, so
I salted, chopped, shoveled again, resalted.
And the doctor’s wife called, saying he had set out, turned
back, swapped his car for hers, set out again.
The hospice nurse had begged off, and I traded on her infraction:
the doctor was not supposed to visit, he didn’t figure into her
danse macabre, but neither did the pink poinsettia I’d bought
in a hothouse tent in New York, and set on my Mother’s dresser,
nor the amaryllis bulb a friend sent, fully planted, requiring
a month for its scarlet blooms to appear.
Even the doctor’s estimate, offered with full disclaimer
and a sad embrace, ran longer than the week which ended
with a warm front from the South, blowing the trees wild
and black against the black sky at her passing.
Carmela (“Carrie”) DeNofa Bennett
December 24, 2007
Karen Bennett
©️2007, 2022
All Rights Reserved