It’s 3 a.m., too late to start a poem,
Too late also to think about your mother
In the nursing home, her gray hair
Long, child-like, her arms bent close
To her chest, her body fetal in a hospital
Gown. You weren’t there when she died,
But you watched your father as he
Went into arrest, heard the dust rattle
That came from his throat, a sound
Unlike any he’d ever spoken. Earlier
That day, he’d looked at you and said
He didn’t understand why he had cancer.
He slipped between pain and morphine,
His liver failing, heart unable to keep up.
You told him you’d be staying, and that
Confused him too. A nurse woke you
At 1 or 1:30 to say, “He’s dying.”
You stood by the bed, watching.
It wasn’t peaceful or holy. His body
Just stopped, like yours will, like your
Mother’s did, like everyone’s body has
Who’s ever lived. And, he blamed you,
Probably until the end. His doctors had
Tried to tell him that colon surgery
Hadn’t fixed the problem. The cancer
Was in his liver too. He wouldn’t hear them,
So the doctors asked you to decide:
Curative or palliative? You chose palliative,
And took the blame. “You’ve killed me”—
His voice over the phone. “You were
The one who chose this.” Now, when
You’ve finished cleaning up and are
Reading with only the dog for company,
They call for your attention, your mother
Who couldn’t be moved from Louisiana
To Massachusetts and died alone, your
Father’s bony face as the nurse closed
His eyes. Who are you to turn them
Away after all this time, even though
You’re tired and it’s too late to
Remember how they looked at you
Or their voices when they spoke? Who
Are you to turn them away, even
Though it’s too late to write a poem?
George Franklin’s fifth poetry collection, Remote Cities (Sheila-Na-Gig Editions), and a dual-language collaboration with Colombian poet Ximena Gómez, Conversaciones sobre agua/Conversations About Water (Katakana Editores), arrive this year. Previous and forthcoming publications include: Solstice, Rattle, One, Cagibi, New York Quarterly, Black Coffee Review, Tar River Poetry, The Ekphrastic Review, and the anthology Sharing This Delicate Bread: Selections from Sheila-Na-Gig online 2016-2021. He practices law in Miami and teaches poetry workshops in Florida prisons. Website: https://gsfranklin.com/