10 April 2012
I arrive at your house at the front door. After all, it is only polite, To give you some time and some warning. I want to start this off right.
As time passes I start to grow nervous, Has she fallen or has she not heard? Through the glass I can see someone moving, But their form is distorted and blurred.
Then the window above me swings open, It is you who takes me by surprise. I know that you find this amusing. I can tell by the spark in your eyes.
You don’t speak, but you point to the back door. I laugh and I do as I’m told. The lock turns and I finally see you. You are small. You are thin. You are old.
With no words, you lead me to your best room, Clinging on tight to your frame. Your movements are slow and well measured. I can tell that you must be in pain.
When you finally sit in your armchair, Your chest heaves and it seems like a cage, Trapping in words that I yearn to hear. Holding in all of your rage.
You are old, but you are not finished. I know this by the strength of your voice. As you talk, you must speak to me slowly, But I know that this is not your choice.
You have so much to say that it stuns me. If your lungs were not slowing your pace, I know you would show me how swift you could be. Your urgency shows on your face.
But you have been forced to slow down now. As your life ventures near to its close. “This isn’t living” you tell me. I believe you, it shows. God, it shows.
You know death and you sense it is nearing. But you don’t want IVs or alarms. You want to go just like your sister; “I held her in my arms.”
But there is no one left here to hold you. Your husband has already passed. And you don’t want to burden your children, When the moment arrives, at long last.
You know what you want, and you tell me. Your clear eyes reveal it’s no bluff; “I’d be on the next plane to Zurich, If I was strong enough.”
Zurich • Opuss № I