Frequentings

Haunted…floor frequented,
my mother is dying...
alone all by herself.

Falling…hip strucken,
cold floor… long night lying…
alone all by herself.

Phone un-reached… ghost
fighting … and now she is going
... alone all by herself.

She who gave all…
She who was always there…
is now alone, alone all by herself.

To have interrupted... then,
that fabric unfolding….
unfolding all by itself….

No... the floor is hallowing—
the push of being is dying…
alone all by myself.

by Todd Garland

Comments (2)

A striking poem of extreme humanity that makes me look at the reality of being a survivor. I'm sorry about your Mom. The worst pain comes from wondering how they felt at that particular moment, doesn't it?
Poignant and harrowing