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The Dying Need So Little
The last days of my mother
for example, all she seemed to need
was the warmth of sounds nearby.
Sometimes it was medications
or a sip of coffee
she couldn't swallow.
I wondered if her glazed blue eyes
even saw my outline
or did her mind draw photos
to match my voice.
I only felt her hand squeeze mine
a time or two before her breath
began to slow, the hold
lessen with a turn of morphine.
I imagined death waiting in the afternoon
between the rain and tears, preparing
for the time to bring her home,
and for me to let her go.
Raising The Shield
My armor feels heavy, gets heavier daily
and I try to set myself against beasts and brothers,
those hyenas of frustration, annoyance and anger.
Something urges, cheers them on; maybe Murphy.
I would love to cut the throats of these animals who laugh,
watch them gasp, enjoy the dying breaths.
And the other kin--insects of sadness, bitterness, envy,
winged boredom and spoiled bratiness, all crushed and dead.
The jockeying, the battle, the blood aroused and seething,
a furious tangle of inner clanking and gnashing of teeth.
I hear Mother Eustace tell me to pray, offer up all
this pinching and pulling and rusting-up armor.
No, I want to argue, creak and whine for a while,
before I raise the eye shield and let the light in.
Margaret Ellis (Peggy) Hill's work has been featured in online e-zines, published in magazines, anthologies and has won numerous awards locally and nationally, a juried poet at the Houston Poetry Fest for 2002 and 2003, and her work included in the Austin Poetry Festival Anthologies for the last 4 years. 'Peggy' is a member of the California Federation of Chaparral Poets, Ina Coolbrith Society, the Sacramento Poetry Society and other special critique and writing groups. Her first book of poetry, CLOSE COMPANY, was released May, 2003 by PoetWorks Press. (October 2006)
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