Reference Point

Looking for the door to death
She prowled one room to the next,
Calling softly here and there,
Our sixteen years’ companion
Now a stranger to us all.

Kidneys, heart, lungs, brain
Failing, falling quite apart
She still found comfort
In our presence
But no longer held an interest
In living, breathing, being.

What could we say,
What could we think or do
As she probed that boundary,
Intent to reach the other side?

We spoke her name, Kismet,
As often as she’d hear it,
Touched her gently
As often as she’d let us,
Focused as she was.

The least we hoped for her
Was that we gave a reference point
From which to walk away.

©2006 John I. Blair

---

Click on author's name above for bio and list of other works published by Pencil Stubs Online.