by Jude Dippold

When he lay dying,
she crossed the backyard each day,
carrying no more than her black bag
full of love and morphine
for the old man
her children loved as a Grandpa.
She had helped her own parents die
just years before,
but then she had no choice.
Now old ties summoned her across the lawn
where she played as a child
to the house next door.
Greeting death at the old man’s bed
was far more comfortable
than life across the way
where the stranger she had married
begrudged her absence.

© Jude H. Dippold, 2011
First Serial Rights Only