The indications used to come
like movie fighter planes in break
formation, one by one, the perfect
plummet, down and out. This time they’ re
slower. But after supper, when I hear
her in the kitchen hum again, hum
higher, higher, till my ears are
numb, I remember how it was
the last time: how she hummed
to Aramaic peaks, flung
supper plates across the kitchen
till I brought her by the shoulders
humming to the chair.
I remember how the final days
her eyelids, operating on their own,
rose and fell, how she strolled
among the children, winding tractors,
hugging dolls, how finally
I phoned and had them come again,
how I walked behind them
as they took her by the shoulders,
house dress in the breeze, slowly
down the walk and to the curbing,
watched them bend her in the back
seat of the squad again
how I watched them pull away
and heard again the parliament
of neighbours talking.
Donal O Mahoney
First appeared in print
in The Beloit Poetry Journal Vol. 19 No. 2 Winter 1968-69 Box 2, Beloit, WI 53511