of Grandfather
if I get sick too?
Who will take
care of me?
No Aunt Cora to
tuck me in bed.
No Aunt Cora to
bring me soup,
steaming cups of
tea. Ugh. Soup.
Just the thought
makes me hurl
again. I hurl till
I’m food-empty and
there’s nothing
left in my stomach
but putrid air.
ALL HURLED OUT
Shaky. Drained. I poke my head
through Grandfather’s door, see
he is dozing. Sounds like a plan.
I wander into the living room, turn
on the TV. Lie down on the couch
to not watch the History Channel.
Some boring show about some boring
monarch in some boring century.
My eyes, weighted, close and I slip
toward some deep pocket of dark
space. Warm here. Comforting, with
a low buzz of canned boring voices.