Wednesday, May 8, 2013

Wednesday Poems: The Sunday Visit

Wednesday, like all days, is a great day for poetry.

The Sunday Visit

I visit her on Sundays.
The alabaster walls are hushed
and the hush floats down
to the linoleum--
polished clean under the soles
of the nurses' soft white shoes

Her chair frets quietly
as I wheel her to the garden
where spring blooms verdant and new.

I give her a bouquet of forget-me-nots.
She has forgotten my name.
She presses the flowers to her breast
and sings them lullabies.

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