Deathbed Conversation Leading to a Visit #NaPoWriMo

We talked on the phone,
Your hospital bed to my living room,
It was summer,
Your air smelled like overcooked meat and medicine,
Mine smelled like car exhaust and jasmine.
You had that infection that sends you running back for more,
More drugs, more rest, more worries,
Age softened you and made you forgetful,
Years trickling away, your heart full again,
You asked me for my drawings,
Told me you loved me,
How long had it been?
I was 14 years old the last time you loved me,
43 years lost.
At that moment that I booked a flight,
2446 miles, or six hours plus a layover,
Drawings in hand,
Too late.

About Avery Cassell

Avery Cassell is a queer butch San Francisco writer, poet, cartoonist, and artist who grew up in Iran.
This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s